


you pull bosses like you pull my heartstrings

by Hyla



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: "Lamarque is dead"...it's mentioned in passing, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Video Games, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Hair-pulling, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sexual Fantasy, Vibrators, canon has been hacked and replaced with [Thunderfury Blessed Blade of the Windseeker], domtaire, dont tell world of warcraft im here, enjolras has my ADD guys whoa what a coincidence right, homophobia/biphobia (mentioned; not explicit), hospital (mentioned), it's not all porn folks but still theres, nerds being nerds, offscreen minor character death in chapter 6, so I'll let you guys decide for yourselves, some name-calling if that squicks you, subjolras, your online love story pre-packaged and ready for shipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2018-12-14 05:24:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11776386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyla/pseuds/Hyla
Summary: The amis are NERDS who all play the same multiplayer video game. Enjolras needs a new healer for his raiding team. Enter Grantaire:“There aren’t many details to know. I healed for their A-team up until the last expansion, and we were used to running heroic-difficulty stuff. I finished endgame twice with them.” That is, Grantaire raided on the up-and-up with his old guild  for almost four years.But you left?” Enjolras probed, voice going thin as one might narrow their eyes.“Yeah, I couldn’t be around them forever. Things had to change, y'know? People grow apart.” A lie quickly told, he would answer for it at another time.(Or: the author is suffering from gaming nostalgia. Don’t need to be a gamer to read!)





	1. LFG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi fandom! Welcome to my second attempt at writing fic (read: let's forget about #1)! If you didn't read the description, this is a modern + video game AU. I hope other gamers reading this can find things they relate to, but I've tried to make sure non-gamers totally understand. Although it's rarely stated explicitly, the game they're playing is World of Warcraft, a multiplayer, open-world game. I had fun hiding WoW-related Easter eggs throughout the fic, but nothing that impacts the plot. Just sit back enjoy the fantasy world that they are enjoying, and that I have so much enjoyed. Special thanks to my editors, you guys rock. Cheers!
> 
> No outstanding warnings this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LFG- "Looking for group".  
> 1\. Said by a player who wants to be recruited by a team of players, usually so that the team will assist the player with an objective.

The loneliness came with the room--his cell of a room in the backwash of an urban cluster. Grantaire couldn’t afford much better, but he didn’t need to. All the fleeting vibrancy of his life rested in the corner, where he sat at his desk. There, he found himself his stage.

"Lo, a flourish, enter the players!" he crowed, his hand shifting into its position like an automaton whose key had just been wound up again. The fingers slid comfortably against the grooves, tapping out a rhythm he had drummed against the cash register all day at work, and then on the bus pole riding home. He had been waiting to feel the grooves under his hand again, to hear the answering taps of a proper keyboard. 

A jangly riff rang out, and Grantaire’s focus narrowed down to the shifting colors on the screen.

Over on the other end of the voice call, Bahorel sounded like he was drinking something, an action worthy of copying. Grantaire smacked his lips off the rim of a Red Bull can a moment later, hearing no response from Bahorel and expecting none. He was probably exhausted, and for good reason. Unlike Grantaire, Bahorel had an Instagram-worthy social life and an equally photogenic career as a martial arts teacher. It was well into the night, and Spring was especially demanding for Bahorel's line of work. Lucid interactions between them could wait until the next month, or two...

They weren't together to talk, anyway. Nighttime was for video games— multiplayer video games of fantasy brilliance and terror. They were playing World of Warcraft, and they were there to battle enemy players.

As soon as the game reloaded, the music started up again, and the two-minute countdown swept away like nothing at all. 

The fanfare resounded.

Pressed against the gate (and clipping through nineteen other allied players), Grantaire spammed a speed boost as the iron bars disappeared. Summoned his horse. Jumped. Autorun. Jumped. Spammed jump. Put a strength spell on Bahorel. 

They broke off from the group, flinging their bodies, then their worg mounts, across the ground as they chased down their quarry. Their sights were set across the map to the elvish encampment, already swarming with enemy players. Thankfully, Grantaire and Bahorel were backed by an equal number of allies, all strangers who joined a random queue for battle. Grantaire and Bahorel deliberately queued together, relying on each other’s skills to boost their player-versus-player--or PvP--rankings in the battleground. Grantaire, healing, kept Bahorel alive while they ripped through the enemy lines, towers or flag-bearers. Skills, communication, and top-tier armor made their duo a force to be reckoned with.

Nine minutes later, the battleground ended in a victory for their team, despite a brief rough patch when their allies started fighting the enemy _in the fucking middle of the field away from the bases_. The win seemed to loosen Bahorel up a little, and they admired the running scoreboard together. It was the tenth battle of the night. They queued for another one. Bahorel got up to refill his drink while they waited for a spot in the next fight. Above the sound of a distant ice machine, Grantaire heard Bahorel's phone chime. Later, the moan of a creaky swivel chair signaled his return.

"Your phone went off a minute ago," Grantaire piped. 

"Mmmm, mm, mmmm....it's Eponine."

"Huh?" It didn't sound like--

"Ah, yeah, I replaced some of the notification sounds. It's just Kik.” The app they all used to chat when they weren’t online together.

A pause for deliberation. "She's hung up on someone in her guild, y'know?"

Grantaire sighed before responding, a sound that hung heavy over the call. "Yeah, think I heard about that at some point. How's… how is she?" That earned a chuckle out of Bahorel.

"Same old, same old." 

"That good? Who even is this guy she's after?" 

"Well, not so bad, actually. The guy is kind of a noob, but the new guild is really good to her. They moved her up to their top raiding team." Another chuckle, dryer this time. "So it'd probably be more accurate to drop the 'new' entirely. She's got a place there."

Grantaire had to stop and consider at that, realizing for the first time that it had been over a year since the guild disbanded… the _old_ guild, as it were. The one they had all joined together, and ultimately, all fled together. He still had that group chat on his phone, too, abandoned. He never could muster the strength to delete the chat logs. 

A flourish came through the speakers, signaling that a battleground lobby had been found. They warped in.

Later, when the battle was underway, Grantaire heard Bahorel humming in consideration. Odd, because nothing of interest was happening on-screen.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"Nothing. But, well...You know, R, it would be good for you--" He cut off as if steeling himself, and simultaneously charged a gnome hunter. Grantaire frowned and hung back in silence, seeing he wasn’t needed. The rest of the words never came, but Grantaire knew better than to let down his guard.

 _Good for him_? He knew that tone, from whenever Bahorel had been sitting on an idea for a while and was ready to put it into action. It would be too late to convince him otherwise, whatever it was. The hunter dropped in a pinch, undoubtedly leaving Bahorel with some unused power strikes. Not one to waste damage, Bahorel sped to engage a nearby shaman.

Grantaire was ready to abandon the subject once they got inside the enemy base, finding stiff defenders to contend with. They fought sharply, but Bahorel managed to strike them down. However, one their own allies joined the assault and picked up the enemy flag before Bahorel could take it for himself. 

“Ugh, he should have given it to you...He won’t last. Stay or follow?” The goal was to capture the enemy flag without getting killed. If the player (a rogue) had been paying attention, they would have noticed that Bahorel was more likely to survive and take the capture for their team.

“Stay. Look, their health is already down.” Grantaire checked the allied player statuses, and sure enough, the rogue was taking hits. It wouldn’t be long before they fell to the enemy, returning to flag to Bahorel’s position. They waited. Silence returned.

“You should try a new character, really.” Bahorel finally stated, firmer, digging in the vowels the way he might dig in his heels. Grantaire groaned pointedly. 

“Fess up, tell me what this is _really_ about. What are you planning now for my ‘future’.” He grimaced over the last word. There was no future he could see himself pursuing beyond a living wage and video games. It was good enough, he told himself. It _would_ be enough if he had more than semi-good PvP rankings to say for himself. 

“I’m thinking about joining Eponine’s guild. No, I _am_ joining their guild. I think you should come too.” Good grief.

"Not you _too_ , for fuck’s sake. No, nope, not at all, man. I'm done with guilds and people. It's just me, you, and my wonderful silver tongue to entertain us for the rest of our days. No shit, I'm not joining a guild. I’ve learned my fucking lesson," referring to their shared time in the previous guild, before certain lines were crossed and friendly players realized they didn’t know each other after all. "Hell, dude, it really is just you and me, and fuck everyone else out there 'cos I'm fine with this. I'm fine." He wasn't quite yelling, but he knew the emphasis would pick up loud and clear on Bahorel's end. 

"And Eponine?" Still firm, but there was coldness to it now, disappointment. It only made Grantaire feel more betrayed.

"Look, I know Eponine has found some twerp to follow around. She can do whatever she wants. But you? So you're gonna pack up and leave me now? A lone healer in the battleground with no one to heal? That’s the most tragic thing I’ve ever heard, even for me." Grantaire met the challenge indignantly. 

“Eponine is a good warlock and you know it. She’s there for the raiding.” Bahorel said, still more bitter, a warning that Grantaire was crossing the line. “Besides, Simone joined.”

Grantaire swore under his breath. He had to admit, he had always been glad for Bahorel and Simone over since they hit it off at a gaming convention some months ago. 

The rogue died, and Bahorel seized the flag. They made a break for it down the exit tunnel, stopping for no one. Grantaire kept close, not risking Bahorel running out of range from his healing spells. There were two paladins in their way, then a priest and the gnome hunter from earlier, then a collection of five-some players which Grantaire didn't have time to identify, he was healing Bahorel and stewing in his own thoughts. Nevertheless, they made it to the open field alive, leaving behind most of the enemies as they entered friendly territory. 

They came into the antechamber of their own base, finding fresh skeletons of invaders and defenders alike, as well as a few allies sitting on the floor, recuperating before the next wave. Bahorel captured the flag, the third for their team. The battleground was won. 

“Nice, and with four minutes to spare.”

They thanked their team and warped out. Bahorel was ready for him.

“Stop, R, don’t queue us again. Just wait, hear me out.”

Grantaire seethed, hunching in on himself. “I’m not joining a guild. I’m tired of getting fucked with by people,” he snapped, remembering the more unsavory characters that populated their old guild, because how could Bahorel just dismiss the past like that?

"Goddamnit, you don’t have to do this alone, just leave _with_ me, R. Eponine is doing fine, and hell, you might like it too. So start anew. They _need_ a healer like you, you know. They’ll want you.” Grantaire scoffed. “C'mon, R, just us and the battlegrounds? It's going to get old eventually. Don't you want a community again? Actually--? Do what you want, R. I'm going to bed. Here’s their info." Bahorel gave him the name of the guild, the server, and the player faction.

"Woah, woah, hold on. I never heard anything about these people being _blues_." Of the two player factions in the game, the blue faction was the runt of PvP community. "Are they PvE or something? I'm not traipsing around with a team of blue noobs for backup.” “Oh-... and what kind of name _is_ that anyway?" 

Bahorel laughed, warmly now, "So I’ve piqued your interest, eh? Yeah, it's PvE, not PvP. I'll see you." So Bahorel wasn’t just asking him to join a _guild_ , but a _raiding_ guild, fighting computer bots with meshes instead of actual players. Not a new scene for Grantaire, but one that required a _real_ community, one with _social structure_. 

The line dropped before Grantaire could fully voice his objections. He was a PvPer now, he couldn’t just switch to another play style, he wouldn’t know anyone, he didn’t _want_ to know anyone... Bahorel's character sat down in the road for the ten-second exit timer, and vanished, leaving Grantaire with a weighty opportunity that he was determined to ignore. 

He could spend the rest of his night as a usual Tuesday, with no work until the Wednesday night shift and approximately fifteen more hours before he _had_ to log off. He'd work on some achievements, auction some loot, and troll the erotic roleplay hub two servers over for shits and giggles. Unless.

Any observing parties would agree that Grantaire never promised to check out Eponine's guild. Then again, being out of a guild for a year only seemed to add insult to the injury that was the downfall of the last guild. An ex or two (Eponine’s) was involved, some people (Grantaire and Eponine) got outed, and others (dipshits) decided to end friendships on that basis. Simple enough, but also far from it. Dipshits had been guild mates, and guild mates had been friends. Too late, Grantaire had realized the trouble with living life through the game: you still have a family, and they can hurt you just as much as the real one. 

A heavy hand reached for Grantaire's phone, tapped the Skype icon, and swollen, screen-dry eyes looked through Grantaire's chat logs from a year and a half into the past. Before the drama in the guild, the raiding team had agreed to switch the group chat from Skype to Discord. He was looking into a time before it all went wrong. A subconscious mechanism recognized the names and grammar of his old guild mates, of friends he had spent years of his life getting to know. He didn’t expect coming out to be easy, but back then he had been _tired_ of treating his sexuality like a shameful secret around the only people he bothered to care about. Eventually, Grantaire got to a part in the chat log when they all got drunk and went raiding anyway, and still managed to kill another boss in the progression. He took a screenshot and looked away from the phone.

Was it worth getting it all back, on the chance of losing it again? 

On the computer, his avatar waited for a command. A troll druid. It idled, hunched and swaying buoyantly even under the weight of a thick leather caster’s robe. It waited, and sat down after a period of inactivity, and then logged itself off to the start menu. The "change server" button hovered. 

Something turned the key inside the clockwork of his right hand, reached out, and let go.

_Click._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully that wasn't too dense, it'll get more clear later on ^.^
> 
> Chapter Appendix, in case anyone's lost!  
> -Player-versus-player, or PvP: A mode of gameplay in which players of one faction (red or blue) fight the opposing faction. Faction is determined by the race of the person's character (e.g., troll is red, dwarf is blue)  
> -Player-versus-enemy, or PvE: A mode of gameplay in which players fight computer-generated monsters.  
> -Battleground: A setting for PvP. Players can 'queue' for a spot to fight in one, teleporting the player to the scene of the battle. Blue and red fight each other in large groups, including capture-the-flag and seizing towers.  
> -Raid: A setting for PvE, in which allied players must team up to defeat more challenging computer-generated monsters.  
> -Guild: A player-run organization, often between friends. Members of a guild help each other with PvE or PvP objectives.


	2. L2P

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire, meet Enjolras. Enjolras, Grantaire.
> 
> No outstanding warnings this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> L2P- "Learn to play"  
> 1\. (Common usage) An insult to inexperienced players  
> 2\. (Secondary usage) Describing the phase during which a new or returning player gets re/acquainted with the game, generally.

Today 9:22 AM

**<** u didnt tell me all the hot ones were on the blue faction. why did u let me play red faction for so long

**>** i thought blood elves were ur type R???

**<** yeah?? ?? i mean it’s rlly just their voice actors but now im weak for these crappy english accents. hav u even seen the worgen women tho

**>** LOL U REALLY DID IT what r u doing in the worgen starting zone tho? just pay to transfer ur main character over... 

**>** also rlly?? hots for worgen?? isn't that like furry shit? warn me the next time u wanna text another one of ur kinks so i can laugh when im not at work

**<** 1: u said to start a new char fuck u!!!!!!! realm hopping costs big bucks and im poor 2: fuck u again cuz i was talking about their HUMAN form u dumbass. im a fucking werewolf i can be either. it is the 21st century and i will not stand ur intolerance for hot ppl who happen to shapeshift into dogs 3: bye bitch

**>** LOLLLL i said start A-NEW but u do u. cya bitch

Grantaire had never started a character on the blue faction with the intention of sticking with it, but when he looked through the race and class combos with a mind for the ideal build, the most stylish body type, the most self-aggrandizing username, Grantaire felt a profound sense of significance to this new character. In short, and the usual drudgery of starting again was replaced with a vigor that he hadn’t felt since he first played the game. 

Of course, it was _possible_ to pay for his main character to switch to a blue race on the new realm, but he couldn't deny himself the giddy rush of starting from scratch again, like a child discovering old, misplaced toys under the dresser, and finding that they still liked them after years apart.

Ultimately, he had picked a worgen, a knockoff werewolf. He had half a mind to play a blue alien race, until he remembered that his class, a Druid, wasn't available on that race. The choice between a hulking werewolf and a purple elf was non-negotiable. Scrolling through character creation, he took time to appreciate the variety of styles for hulking wolf-men. Soon-to-be “Grandruff” could be scruffy, like a full-body neckbeard, or fluffy, like a shampoo commercial, and finally, the shaggy, hunched profile that Grantaire settled on, complete with a fiery glare caught mid-snarl. By the time Grantaire texted Bahorel, he realized that the faux-British accents of his fellow worgen made the decision all the more worthwhile. Meanwhile, the worgen prince wasn’t too regrettable of a sight either. In his human form.

By the time he remembered to text Bahorel, he had already cleared the starting zone and begun a quest sending him to the capital city of the night elves, another blue faction race. Back on his main character, he was used to red faction cities reflecting the brutish, twisted races which were playable on that side. The worgen capital happened to be in ruins, so it wasn’t much of a shocking transition. Meanwhile, the night elf city was a paradigm of tranquility with a paucity of player activity. He figured the difference would become even more striking once he reached the capital city of the blue faction and the human race.

Unfortunately, the questline sent him inland, into the shared night elf and worgen secondary zone, away from the ship bound for the human city. In proper night elf fashion, he was met with a dense pine forest streaked with ashy, melancholy greens and woodwind music looping over the sound of Grantaire’s combat grunts and spell blasts. Grantaire himself didn’t spend much effort, what with the leveling gear he bought on his main character, which swiftly out-levelled him for that zone and forced him to skip ahead to the next one in order to get enough reward from the quests. The next zone was--he should’ve guessed it--even more forest, in new and improved lime-green flavor! He took one look at the sea of shrubbery and chose to reconsider his options, of which there were two: one, embrace the quest grind or two, queue for dungeons. It took three minutes to make an executive decision, in which the latter prevailed. 

Queuing for dungeons was roughly the same as queueing for battlegrounds, except battlegrounds pitted a team of players against a team of players from the opposing faction. On the other hand, dungeons took five random players of the same faction and pitted them up against computer-generated monsters and bosses. Both battlegrounds and dungeons earned extra level progress, but Grantaire knew that Eponine’s guild expected seasoned PvE-ers. Enough dungeons, and even someone as out-of-practice as Grantaire could bullshit his way into guild raiding by the time he capped his level. After all, what was dungeon-crawling if not downscaled, low-level raiding? At least, that was the plan. In theory. More of a theory than a plan, really. 

Departing from his old PvP server, Kil’Jaeden, Bahorel’s instructions took Grantaire to the modest server of Korialstrasz, an identical world but boasting a lower, player-versus-enemy, or PvE-based, population. Doing some research, Grantaire found that it was unlike most realms, in that the blue faction--not the red faction--led server-wide PvE rankings. He also noticed the Les Amis de lABC’s name and merit on the server’s wiki. The entries were only a few months old. 

Twenty-three levels after Grandruff’s inception, Bahorel came online, signaling the onset of the next afternoon and Grantaire’s cue to keep an eye on his time before work. Eponine’s user joined the voice call almost immediately after Grantaire picked up for Bahorel. He felt the skin around his eyes crease up in a crow’s foot, unused to smiling in earnest. 

“Hey guys, what’s new?” She purred, knowing too-well that she was fully informed, and betraying a bubbling energy which she usually kept under wraps.

“I lived, bitches. Let me join.” Grantaire grunted, endeared, and letting the excitement in the call ebb into him like a contagion. Over twenty hours online had wrung him numb of all mental sensation, but the other two always seemed to bring his humanity out of the pit again. 

“I gotta say, I didn’t think you’d go through with it. I honestly didn’t. It’s good to have you.” Bahorel said simply. Eponine followed up in segue:

“But babe I gotta give you a disclaimer. You’re not gonna like the guild master.”

Grantaire paled, mind already reeling back to the days before they left--

“--Hey, hey it’s not what you think. How do I put this...” A pause, and the ring of Eponine’s bright laughter. “I mean, you’ll want to drive him nuts, unless you’ve started cutting a break for the young-eager-hopeful-crusaders of the world. Last I checked, you did not.” 

Grantaire gulped and focussed on what she said for a moment, willing the ease of his shared company to return but unable to rationalize himself out of his doubts. In that moment, prospect of _actually_ taking steps in a new guild confounded and terrified him because the whole lot of them had made faulty judgments about guilds before, and they could do so again. It could all happen again so very easily. It wasn’t new at all. 

Bahorel piped up after Grantaire failed to respond. “If this doesn’t work, we’ll pull some strings and get you out. We’ll even mail you a gift card for coffee or something.”

“Hey, speak for yourself, guy-with-stable-income…” 

“Fine, fine, Ep… _I’ll_ mail you a gift card for coffee, R.” 

Grantaire drummed his finger, grounding himself to the feeling and nodding before managing a “Yeah, okay. I get it. Hit me with the invite.”

A flourishy sound pumped through the speakers when the menu came up, displaying a red and black guild standard, the words “Les Amis de lABC” wrought in gold, and two shiny, beveled buttons to accept the invitation, or to deny it. He accepted, despite getting the sinking feeling that he was far too sober to do so at the time. 

You have joined [Les Amis de lABC]!  
[Guild] chat has been added to your channels.  
[Guild] [Enjolras]: Welcome!  
[Guild] [Grandruff]: hi

On the other end of the call, Bahorel and Eponine sighed their relief.

[Guild] [Wolfdaughter]: the man the myth  
[Guild] [Jehanfly]: Welcome!!!! :)  
[Guild] [Bahhumbug]: the legend  
[Guild] [Courfayyy]: WELCOME HEY!!!!!  
[Guild] [Grandruff]: haha thanks  
[Guild] [Callcosette]: hiya welcome! ^.^  
[Guild] [Allisferre]: Welcome!

“Not so bad,” Grantaire started, looking over the messages before opening the guild menu, filled out with fellow members, announcements, and the raiding history. 

“Could be worse, considering.” Bahorel hinted, an obvious jab at Grantaire’s illustrious career of charm. 

“What, do you want me to go all ‘I’m here I’m queer now hand me a beer’?” Grantaire deadpanned. It was a real consideration. 

He prided to hear Bahorel and Eponine snort at the suggestion. “If you really wanted to stand out around here, I’d step up your nihilism and say you’re a heterosexual.” Eponine teased. Grantaire gasped, scandalized. 

“Take that back.” He seethed, feigning offense, and pressed his left hand into his cheek. “I resent the implication that I, an upstanding queer citizen, should live to hear myself labeled with the hetero community.” 

“Keep _that_ up, and you’ll have no trouble with this guild, R.” Bahorel laughed. 

“No time, I gotta scram to work, folks. That’s all for now. Uhh-” Grantaire admitted, regretful. A ding from the headphones alerted him to a private message. 

[Enjolras] whispers: Do you want to talk about where you see yourself in the guild?  
To [Enjolras]: srry yo i gtg to work. i have the mobile app tho if this doesn’t take long  
[Enjolras] whispers: We can get started.  
To [Enjolras]: k just gimme a few minutes pls

Grantaire said his farewells to Bahorel and Eponine and swiveled about to scan for a collared shirt on the floor. The motion made him dizzy, and he groaned like an ancient man as he uncurled the hunch in his back and put his weight on his feet again. He realized that he was dehydrated and exhausted all at once. He dreaded the misery of working like this for the next few hours of his life, but rushed himself nonetheless so he wouldn’t get fired. And so he could talk to Enjolras, whoever they were.

Getting dressed allowed Grantaire to consider a response for Enjolras. _’Where you see yourself in the guild?’_ Naturally, he would be a raid healer at some point. First, he needed to level up his toon and reread some PvE guides for his class. Personally, he’d heed Eponine’s advice and play up the patience for the guild master. It wasn’t usual for him to inhibit himself these days, but then, it wasn’t usual for him to join a new guild, one where he wanted to feel _welcome_. He had to talk to Enjolras. He could introduce himself to them and hope for a step in the right direction. Grantaire...hoped? 

He was on his way out the door by then, double-checking the shape of his phone in his back pocket, and his keys in the other. He was late, and the full force of the mid-Spring heat wave aggravated his parched throat as he raced to the bus stop. He thanked the mercy of random fortune when his bus lagged just enough for him to wave the driver and make it to the curb. Once aboard, he extended thanks to the driver before pulling out his phone and slumping into the closest empty plastic bench. Time to impress.

The mobile app for the game was mostly useless. One could place bids on items with in-game money, look over in-game achievements, and send messages to guild members. Until that day, Grantaire found little use for the last application. 

To [Enjolras]: back  
[Enjolras] whispers: Great, I won’t waste your time. What role do you want?  
To [Enjolras]: i can heal. bahorel told me you guys needed one. I wouldn't mind changing my spec for dps tho

In truth, using the damage specialization--dps--bored him. His class had a weak build for dealing damage alone, which he couldn’t count on in order to seal a stable spot in the raiding team. 

[Enjolras] whispers: Sounds good. Our main healer got into some irl trouble a few weeks ago. He might come back, but it’s complicated. 

Grantaire noted with some reverence how quickly Enjolras was able to respond. Did he have questions pre-copied in another window? He wondered. 

To [Enjolras]: oh?  
[Enjolras] whispers: Well, he’s an officer in the guild, Lamarque, “Lamadramaa”. He’s had some health issues for the past few years and he’s in the hospital. According to what his sister told us, it’s not good.

Grantaire frowned, unsure how Enjolras wanted him to respond. Ironic, that the Lamarque’s healer’s skills in-game would desert him in real life. He wouldn’t say that, though. Enjolras sounded like he was just venting, anyway, but he had to say _something_. 

To [Enjolras]: oh. that sucks  
[Enjolras] whispers: I’m sure you’ll find out about the guild more personally during your time here. You intend to stay? To raid?

Grantaire relaxed, feeling that they were safe to continue.

To [Enjolras]: yeah  
[Enjolras] whispers: Do you want help getting to max level in the meantime? We want you getting geared up as soon as possible.  
To [Enjolras]: ill be okay. i can raid by the end of the week  
[Enjolras] whispers: Are you sure I can’t organize someone to help you? Getting you integrated is rather important for our progression, you know. 

What did they think he needed, a personal escort? He snorted at the suggestion and decided that this Enjolras was cute, and so, so worth what he was about to do.

To [Enjolras]: i might start to believe you’re seducing me into accepting a private audience with your friends, o enjolras. maybe if they order me a drink first xoxo

The corners of Grantaire’s mouth twitched into a smirk as the seconds ticked away and Enjolras searched for a response.

[Enjolras] whispers: Eponine told me you could commit to our objectives. Please take this job seriously. We’re counting on you to fill Lamarque’s spot.  
To [Enjolras]: oh ill show u commitment  
[Enjolras] whispers: Don’t push me. I don’t warn you again.

He took the hint and let it go. There would be plenty of opportunities to mess with this one.

To [Enjolras]: dw, dw. trust me, the only thing im good at is having vices like this fucking game. if the GM comes on u can tell him that r’s got the healing situation covered  
[Enjolras] whispers: I am the guild master, and the raid leader too. I will hold you to it. 

_'You’ll want to drive him nuts'_ Eponine had said.

Grantaire put two and two together, and felt his pulse leap as he acknowledged Potentially Very Bad Mistake. “Shit, shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit I’m such an idiot,” he groaned, closing his fist around the phone and pounding his face against it again and again until the bus stopped suddenly and drove his head into the seat in front, making him yelp and recoil. 

“Is this you?” The driver called, and Grantaire made eye contact with him in center mirror as he sat up to rub his head. Confused and mortified, he hadn’t realized that it was his stop to get to work. He groaned again, louder this time, part in relief for the bus driver’s act of heroism, part in horror at the idea of starting a work shift in his state. The fist that wasn’t wrapped around his phone heaved Grantaire off the bench and skimmed against the sides of the other benches as he made his way off the bus, thanking the driver profusely before hurrying on his way through the downtown. He would be tardy by a minute or so, but not such that he needed to plow over slow-moving revelers and couples. At least, it gave him an excuse _not_ to look at his phone after that disaster of an introduction. 

He got to work, and the rest went about as well as Grantaire expected. He managed to reacquaint himself with the Customer Smile after the initial shock from the bus ride wore off and he manned his post. He swayed behind the drugstore counter for several hours, letting the blinding interior fluorescence keep him lucid for his job while he ignored the weight of two-day insomnia storming between his temples. When he got the go-ahead to leave, he was a vessel roaming free of its captain while he followed the way to the bus stop, and fell into bed after a series of equally mindless tasks. 

Grantaire rarely dreamt anything, so the next thing he felt was opening his eyes against a flare of light sweeping through his window, and a grating alarm somewhere on the street outside. He furled his brow against the harsh sensations, and peeked from under his eyelashes at the window parallel to his sleeping form. Construction work, he remembered, outside his apartment. He hardly noticed it during the day, what with his earphones pumping out youtube and video game music for all hours. Even that morning (afternoon?), it took some time for the noise, combined with the light, to stir him.

Grantaire skipped the coffee and went straight for the beer as he rolled out of bed and into the computer chair. Thursday was a free day for him, so he didn’t worry about getting dressed. He didn’t worry about checking his phone. All that stood before him was a day of dungeon runs, and he intended to get it over with as painlessly as possible. Luckily, he could queue as a healer, usually cutting the wait time by half or more due to the scarcity of those in his profession. It kept him busy, and he was committed to this kind of level-climbing acrobatics, but it didn’t stop the process from numbing his mind to gloominess. Unfortunately, the only way to shake himself out of it was to think of other things, which led him to think of Enjolras. 

He was ashamed that he wanted to do nothing but talk to Enjolras as strongly as he wanted to ignore him. Talk, because it would be wise to be on good terms. To ignore, because Grantaire’s fun would only get him kicked out, eventually, probably. 

Lucky for him, Enjolras wasn’t online a whole lot, and even then, Grantaire could say truthfully that he was busy. If need be, he could keep himself busy for a long, long time, and it would work. Absurdity, misdirection, and overall social avoidance came naturally to Grantaire, even blissfully when he was on his own. Even in the old guild, he rarely befriended people he encountered on the server. Being an open-world, multiplayer game, it was impossible to do business without meeting new players. Everyone under the pixelated sun had once begged a mage to make a portal, or waited for someone to move their pet mammoth off the quest npc, or felt the sexual tension between players working the same questline, or mastered jumping as a valid form of communication. Grantaire had particular weakness for pun battles and flame wars in the local chat channels. Social hijinks were necessary to avoid picking up ridiculous friendships online. Attachment couldn't be helped, only to turn bitter and hurtful when the person quit the game. With the exception of Bahorel and Eponine, he had stopped seeing the person behind the screen.

Some levels later, Grantaire was in the middle of a boss fight and a Lady Gaga jingle alerted him that Bahorel was calling. 

“What is it, I’m in a dungeon,” Grantaire muttered, pushing an earphone aside and putting the call on speakerphone. 

“I’m driving home right now.”

“So?” Grantaire grunted as one of the party members ran into the fire, “ _Damnit_ ”

“Enjolras is thinking about only letting you join the intermediate team. In his words, ‘he doesn’t seem like someone who takes our mission seriously’ He said you started ignoring him.”

“What the--I was on my way to work, he knew that! And it’s just a fuckin’ game, ‘mission’? Who does he think he is?” Grantaire started to simmer.

“All I’m saying is that he’s under a lot of stress. He’s finishing a senior thesis right now and trying to hold the guild together at once.”

“How was I supposed to know that? And our guild master is a _college kid_? Trying to hold it together _and_ expect raid progression? What the fuck is this guild anyway? I just wanted a spot in the raid team.”

“Well, then remember what Eponine said about going easy on him. The guild will be fine. People got a little shaken after Lamarque got ill.”

“And his own friends can’t, like, help? He doesn’t even know me, man!” _He shouldn’t know me, I shouldn’t know him._

“You’re going to take the role of the guy who’s in the hospital. The guy who, as far as we can tell, is too sick to come back. You wanted a place you felt needed, and here you are. Now Enjolras wants a healer again.” 

Grantaire worked his throat, unable to respond and flushing more in spite of himself. Somewhere in his mind, he already regretted teasing Enjolras, but he wasn’t sure he could stop, given another chance. Not while Enjolras was so suddenly _real_. “So all they expect me to do is gear up and heal, right? I might be able to do it. If they need me, well…” he let it taper off. On the screen, Grantaire’s group killed the boss. He teleported out of the dungeon and re-queued for another one. 

“Of course they need you, they just lost their healer and a good friend.” Grantaire could relate, and he suspected that “they” might refer to someone in particular. That was fine, he could deal with a stressed and cute guild master. Realistically, Enjolras could’ve just picked up any old healer off the street. Eponine must have made a good case for Grantaire’s defense. 

Enjolras wants a healer again. Bahorel reemphasized, sighing into his words. He wasn’t exclusively talking about the raid team.

Oh, but for pity’s sake. It could only end badly. Grantaire foresaw only two outcomes, wherein he would either massively disappoint the others, or let himself get attached to them, thusly disappointing himself. He wasn’t even a great _people person_ , according to the consensus of most other people, so it would probably be the former punishment, if not both. But, if he could do anything, it was distract Enjolras from whatever mess he was in, and try to _back off_ while the captain did the heavy lifting with keeping the guild together. Also, he could heal for the raid team.

“I’ll do whatever he needs. Uh, he can put me on whatever team he likes.” Grantaire murmured finally, acquiescing. 

“Thank you, R. See you soon.” 

“Aye, bitch.” Grantaire let Bahorel hang up as he joined the next dungeon group. 

[Guild] [Grandruff]: hey hey how can i get in touch with sir enjolras  
[Guild] [Courfayyy]: ooO el capitan is doing thesis stuff right now. want his #? or i can tell him later, we’re meeting for coffee soon  
[Guild] [Grandruff]: o are u a student too?  
[Guild] [Courfayyy]: yuppppp! Enj lamarque and i went to the same highschool and then college :P i’m a year behind enj tho. he revived the club after lamarque graduated. A bunch others in the guild are undergrads and Ferre is a grad student here too.

Damn, smart crowd.

[Guild] [Grandruff]: wow no wayy what do u all studyt  
[Guild] [Courfayyy]: mostly poly sci or language stuff :DDD well except ferre double majored with poly and chemistry  
[Guild] [Merryus]: Im undecided but im gonna do classics!!!!!  
[Guild] [Merryus]: wait that counts as language stuff nvm  
[Guild] [Grandruff]: damn  
[Bahhumbug] has come online.

Over the following hour, Grantaire learned from Courfayyy (who went by Courfeyrac in real life) about how most of the guild’s raid team originated from the same French culture club at the college, with the exception of Combeferre and Musichetta, who went to a different school for undergrad, and Eponine and Marius, who found the guild online. Some, like Bossuet and Feuilly had dropped out (Bossuet) or graduated and started work (Feuilly). Only after Grantaire prompted, did Courfeyrac mention that Lamarque was in law school. He also learned that Enjolras was actually the guy’s real surname.

[Guild] [Grandruff]: lol rlly? same spelling and everything?  
[Guild] [Courfayyy]: I kid thee not, grand r!

Oh, and he got Enjolras’ number. No big deal, no big deal...

Grantaire started to do quests in-between dungeons again. Since hitting level fifty, the xp bar decided that it was in no rush to make it through the next forty levels. He was level sixty-one when the sun started to go down, dimming the whole room such that Grantaire’s eyes grew irritated and welled with tears before the garish light of the computer in the darkness. No matter how many nights he spent in front of the light, his body would never get used to it. 

Courfeyrac had been offline for two hours, so he was probably done getting coffee with Enjolras. At least, two hours seemed like enough time to get coffee, he never worked enough in college to need it himself. He had Enjolras’ number written on a used envelope next to his keyboard, twirled out in his own elaborate script beneath Enjolras’ name. He wondered if he should call or text. Or should he email? No, definitely call or text. Was texting a professional way to talk to someone? He wondered if he ought to be professional. Then again, everything about Enjolras seemed professional, like he belonged in E3 competitions or something. It would only be polite to attempt to follow suit.

He settled with texting Enjolras, reading it aloud twice and clicked send before he could second-guess himself. Doing so, he took comfort in the notion that he could choose his words more carefully over texting. 

Today 10:44 PM  
**<** Hey it’s Grandruff. Just so you know Im sorry I acted like an idiot yesterday. I had to sign off for work when we were talking, btw. Sorry abt that. We can finish talking if you want.

To Grantaire’s surprise, his phone rang not a few moments later from an unknown number. Unknown to his phone, at least. Grantaire knew it matched the one scrawled on his envelope. 

“Shit shit what the fuck who does that?!” He bit out. With his plan for “cool and collected” thoroughly out the window and down the street, Enjolras would have to put up with him unfiltered.

“Hello?”

“This is Enjolras. Can we talk like this?” Huh, he wasn’t sure how he expected the name to sound, but he realized he liked it. He liked it better too with that steely, articulate inflection, even though it was warped against whatever background noise muddled away on Enjolras’ line. 

“Uh, yep. Yeah I’m down for whatever.” Grantaire winced. Poor choice of words, damn him. 

“Good. And, before we go on, is there anything I can call you besides, er, Grand-Ruff?” Posed as a question, but possibly an attempt to joke. Good on him. He also noted a rhythmic hitch in Enjolras’ breath, and the ebb and flow of jazz music on the other end. He was walking?

“Ah, and what if I told you that I truly answer to the name ‘Grand-Ruff’? The fabric of my identity might depend on it, monsieur.” A risk, he knew, but he couldn’t help investigating that spark of humor. 

“Then I will be taken for an idiot, and you, a fool.” Dry, but not frosty. Grantaire took it as a success. 

“Another time, then,” He chuckled, charmed, “and it’s Grantaire. At yer service. For real. Uh, sorry, where are you...?”

“Thank you. Ah, I’m walking downtown somewhere right now, but I won’t lose signal here. Now if I may, what’s your raiding experience, Grantaire? You may not know this, but the ABC used to be in the top one-hundred world raiding guilds for the blue faction. I’m aware that you healed for another guild with Eponine and Bahorel, but I don’t know the details.” Grantaire’s initial reverence for the guild’s success was tainted with the return of old memories. Grantaire winced reflexively, recalling his old guild’s fight to the top one-hundred list on the red faction, a title more painfully won due to red faction elitism. They never made the list. Grantaire faltered and worked his jaw before replying.

“I know, I saw your stats on the server wiki. “There aren’t many details to know. I healed for their A-team up until the last expansion, and we were used to running heroic-difficulty stuff. I finished endgame twice with them.” That is, Grantaire raided on the up-and-up with his old guild for almost four years. 

"But you left?” Enjolras probed, voice going thin as one might narrow their eyes.

“Yeah, I couldn’t be around them forever. Things had to change, y'know? People grow apart.” A lie quickly told, he would answer for it at another time. 

Enjolras hummed, either distracted by the street or musing over Grantaire’s background, he couldn’t tell. “I’m told you can fill our spot in the team, and I’ll trust Eponine’s word on that. It’s just--” Enjolras huffed explosively into the mic, making a racket against Grantaire’s ear. “Lamarque and I founded this guild, the one you’re filling in for. I try not to put pressure on any single one of us, but I’m not going to lie: you have big shoes to fill. He’s...he _is_ not only a good healer, but a friend. I-I-I apologize, but that’s the truth.” He did sound regretful, at least. Or perhaps for the worse. Grantaire didn’t know what to think. “...I won’t have the position be made a mockery of.” Enjolras finished, sharp at nothing in particular. Yet, underneath, in the rhythmic breaths and the calculated consonants, Enjolras sounded exhausted to a degree that rivaled Grantaire on most days, like a stuffed animal whose loose strings had been pulled and pulled until all his frayed seams threatened to make him collapse. He knew what it felt like, too, before he left the old guild. Perhaps he was too quick to discount a...professional understanding.

“Hey, dude, I got this,” he soothed, helplessly empathizing with this random punk, and trying to remember what Bahorel and Eponine might’ve told him a year ago, when he was still not sure if he wanted to cut ties with his old, old friends. He latched onto that feeling and tried to envision a different context, Enjolras’ context. “I’m not the same, I get it, but you’ve got tons of people who want to make the guild work. Who would willfully leave you, anyway?” He wasn’t thinking anymore, and it sounded weird after-the-fact. He didn’t actually know shit about Enjolras’ relationship with the guild. Still, he didn’t feel like he was _wrong_ about it, either.

Enjolras was silent on the other end, but Grantaire could hear that he was still breathing close to the mic, thinking. Suddenly, “I should go. Thank you, I’ll be in touch.” 

Enjolras hung up before Grantaire could think of an excuse for him to stay. Despite himself, he already missed that voice, and the cute, and perhaps not-impossible guild master that it belonged to. He heard so much care taken to make that voice measured, and he wondered what it would sound like for Enjolras for breathe easy.

The week ended in a rush, flowing seamlessly into the weekend and punctuated by a few daytime shifts at the drugstore. In a tentative manner trying to pass as aloof, he also used the guild chat to acquaint himself with some of the other guild members, but fell utterly silent whenever Enjolras’ name popped up in the chat bar. He couldn’t find the words. _Since when did I care about appearances?_ he thought as he agonized over online social etiquette with the others. Safe topics of conversation? Raiding, perhaps, but not to the point of elitism. Complaining about the latest expansion or patch update? Always safe, within reason. Fawning over the in-game soundtrack? Oh yes. Use real-life first names? _Never_ , that’s just unfashionable. 

Despite all odds, most people proved to be rather approachable, particularly the ones on the raid signup. It distracted him from Enjolras some, because it seemed too good to be true for _everyone_ to be amicable. After some probing, he let it be and held his tongue from sardonic remarks. It felt awkward to be the only walking shitpost in the room. Most of all, he wanted to avoid that in front of Enjolras.

The whole truth was that he was torn between wanting to talk to Enjolras constantly, and wanting to ignore him. Talk, because it would be wise to be on good terms with his veritable superior. To ignore, because Grantaire’s fun would only get him kicked out, eventually, probably. Bahorel and Eponine were the only connections Grantaire could rely on. Years ago, they would frequent bars together, and years before that, they went to arcades in their hometown. They couldn’t just disappear. 

Now, in a guild, the tables had turned. Everyone was waiting on _him_ to disappear, to decide he wasn’t good enough, etc., unless Grantaire could step up and get with their program. And he _wanted_ to have such a place in his online life. He was _good_ enough to heal for them, after all, and it was foolish not to apply a talent that he so much enjoyed. But making a good impression was easier said than done. Too late, he was realizing that in joining the guild, he had agreed to contracts of cooperation, professionalism, and civility that he wasn’t prepared for, that stripped him of the caustic antics and risked him getting _attached_ to people just like Enjolras.

He was starting to notice the person behind the screen again. They heard each other's’ voices, there was _small talk_ , and Enjolras asked about Grantaire’s history online. It was all completely necessary, a guild leader ought to know their community, and a raid leader ought to know their task force, but he heard Enjolras breath against the phone mic and forgot that it belonged, in a way, to the yellow-crested human paladin wearing Generic Human Face #12. He caught himself vulnerable, and feared it.

So Grantaire talked some, worked some, avoided Enjolras, and dedicated nearly every other waking hour to fill up the level progress bar. Compared to the slow creep of that bar, everything else was like a flashing storm of ever-changing scenes. The grind paid off, though, because it was Sunday morning when he capped out the whole thing. That was the next time he spoke to Enjolras.

[Guild] [Jollllli]: Does anyone have stuff I can disenchant  
[Guild] [Enjolras]: I put some in the guild vault this morning. Third tab down.  
[Guild] [Jollllli]: i used it already :(  
[Guild] [Enjolras]: Try texting Chetta? I heard she’s been farming a lot lately, she’ll have some enchanted drops.  
You have earned the achievement [Level 90]!  
[Guild] [Grandruff] has earned the achievement [Level 90]!  
[Guild] [Jollllli]: GRATS GRATS GRATS!  
[Bahhumbug] whispers: omg dude hype!!!  
[Guild] [Wolfsister]: damn boi  
[Guild] [Merryus]: grats!  
To [Bahhumbug]: haha thnx! :)  
[Guild] [Feufan]: Grats R!!!!!  
[Enjolras] whispers: Welcome to the team. You should raid with us tomorrow night, if you can make it. We’ll carry you. You get first dibs on the loot. It’s just a gear run if you haven’t looked at the calendar. Usually we’d run 3+ times per week, but it’s near the end of the year for us students.  
[Guild] [Callcosette]: YAY! Grats!!

Grantaire was moving his character back to the nearest outpost in his zone, trying to avoid mobs so he could take a break for food. He kept looking down at the whisper from Enjolras, already nervous. His position felt almost a lie, a grand farce he put on and while waiting to take on impossible responsibility and then--surprise! T'was kidding the whole time! Except he couldn't think of those witty remarks, for once. It was real and it was happening. 

To [Enjolras]: i’ll be there with my own potions  
[Enjolras] whispers: :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Appendix, in case I lost anyone again!  
> -Worgen: The race of Grantaire's character. Literally, a werewolf.  
> -Quest: An objective given to a player by a non-player-character in the world. The player receives level progress as a reward.  
> -Dungeon: A type of PvE, like an easier version of a raid. Requires only 5 random players and is available to low-level players for better rewards than questing alone.  
> -Level: From 1 to 90 (in this time period, around 2013. WoW levels go up to 110 as of 2017), is a good indication of a player's strength and experience. Completing many objectives (such as quests, dungeons, or battlegrounds) increases a player's level.
> 
> Also I dunno why but I keep imagining Enjolras' school as Columbia University? Lets just go with that.


	3. BoP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raiding day, and more?
> 
> Some references to past biphobia and homophobia this chapter. Still not stated explicitly. No other outstanding warnings this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BoP- "Bind on pickup"  
> 1\. (Common usage) An item which, once added to a player's inventory, cannot be sold or traded to another player. The item is "soulbound" to the player as soon as they pick it up, i.e., binds on pickup.  
> 2\. (Secondary usage) A player who is valued, or, having joined a team, otherwise becomes indispensable to that team.

Grantaire logged in a couple of hours before the raid, after taking the morning off to detox from a week of non-stop leveling. (read: he watched Minecraft let’s-plays on YouTube). Now, it was all over, and with the exception of raiding, he could do with his character however he wished. 

After logging in, he opened up the in-game map and examined the blank spaces still left unexplored. Despite having spent five days on the new character, most of the major player hubs were uncharted. After all, he was only interested in traveling between adventure zones that week, all of which led him far away from any heavy player traffic. Now, he finally had an opportunity to reach real civilization: the bustling metropolis of the blue faction, Stormwind City. 

The red and blue factions had separate cities, and entering the opposite faction's city meant almost certain, swift death. From his long history in the red faction, Grantaire only knew Stormwind as the Home of the Enemy, an impenetrable compound only breached by elite groups of achievement hunters or those foolhardy casuals who had riches to waste on armor repair bills. Now, as he flew into the gryphon roost on the outer wall, he wasn’t targeted by any guards, nor did any players swarm to demolish his character. He was one of them, now. He was welcome there. But if nothing else, the trade channel reminded him how little had actually changed. 

[Trade] chat has been added to your channels.  
[Trade] [Roxurpants]: WTS [Jeweled Onyx Panther] 28k AH or PST  
[Trade] [Yseralilly]: how do u get to the jade forest  
[Trade] [Pprdragons]: LF2M DPS AND TANK FOR [Glory of the Pandaria Hero]!!!!!!! PLS!!1  
[Trade] [Tiglet]: u swim  
[Trade] [Snicksnack]: u activate ur [Thunderfury, Blessed Blade of the Windseeker]  
[Trade] [Gnomyname]: [Thunderfury, Blessed Blade of the Windseeker][Thunderfury, Blessed Blade of the Windseeker][Thunderfury, Blessed Blade of the Windseeker][Thunderfury, Blessed Blade of the Windseeker]  
[Trade] [Fluxundus]: shut up  
[Trade] [Sneggles]: did someone say [Thunderfury, Blessed Blade of the Windseeker]?  
[Trade] [Yoggsarock]: WTB port to dal w/ tip 20g

Players would be players. He had seen enough, and dragged the trade channel to a separate window, out of sight. Not that he wasn’t amused, but the trade chat harbored a universal idiocy that would never change with time, space, or faction affiliation. Even a little booze wouldn't make it more bearable. That, and he was legitimately curious about exploring the city undisturbed. 

Whereas the red capital city was built upon plateaus, tunnels, and bone struts, Stormwind was raised out of marble and canals. Wedged between coastal mountains, its masonry sprawled from the forest to the sea, where huge ships waited to spirit players off to distant continents. Thankfully, the city guards were programmed to provide directions, so Grantaire was able to find all the major services well enough, from the player auction house, to the banks, the profession trainers, and so on. By the time Grantaire had located everything of interest, an hour and a half remained before the raid, enough time to review his notes on the raid fights.

He sat his character down and minimized the game. Next to Enjolras’ number on the envelope, Grantaire had penned out the names of the four boss battles and the strategies to defeat them. The first battle consisted of three mini-bosses, slimy fish-people who had been seized by the clutches of evil. Killing one fish man caused an explosion, in which remaining bosses returned to full health and unlocked stronger, more debilitating attacks against the players. Grantaire had to remember to cast a healing aura in the center of the field, watch for players who got hits, avoid pulling the bosses, etc. Even he couldn’t be unprepared. He looked forward for the chance to impress, and he let himself follow that train of thought. It wasn’t long before he found himself imagining what Enjolras might say. He wondered if this would be the start of a better relationship between them ( _professionally_ , _professionally_ , was his mantra, like a soldier to his captain, as if the thought would make him forget the person Enjolras). But then, would Enjolras be even more upset if Grantaire was better than Lamarque? Should he be less competent to show respect? Obviously, Enjolras didn’t feel that Lamarque was replaceable. Grantaire frowned, failing miserably at not thinking about the possible wants of Enjolras. The aftermath of his whiskey muddled any attempts to refocus, until a ding from the headphones made him looked up. 

[Guild] [Enjolras] has come online.

Just the man he kind of really wanted-didn’t-want to see. He wondered if maybe he was a little too sloshed to join a call yet; he’d been told he was a clingy drunk on some occasions. Grantaire’s fingers slotted into place and didn’t wait for him to think it over. 

To [Enjolras]: whos doing what roles tonight?  
[Enjolras] whispers: It’s a 10-man group, just normal difficulty. Jehan’s the other paladin and we’re both tanking. For dps we have Eponine as our warlock, Courf and Marius as our hunters, Cosette as our rogue, Ferre on his monk, and Feuilly on his shaman, you on your resto druid, and Joly’s also healing on his holy priest. We’re already geared from this run, so it won’t be too heavy on you. As I said, all the loot’s yours if you need it. Do you know the fights?

Grantaire chuckled in spite of himself. Leave it to someone like Enjolras to handle the bookkeeping, and down to the letter at that.

To [Enjolras]: yeah i took notes. shouldbt be v hard as long as you teach me the verbal cues. when will eponine start summoning us/?  
[Enjolras] whispers: No need, I’m already at the summoning stone. We can start a call now, if you want.  
To [Enjolras]: o cool. yeah im basically doing nothing lol. byut im kinda tipsy lol fair warning

Grantaire hopped onto the group chat, "ABC Raid", which Combeferre had added him to the other day. The “join call” button bobbled merrily. He sought it out, hyper-aware of the fact that he would be stuck on call with Enjolras for a long, long time.

“Hey.” He began, tentative.

“Hey.” Enjolras echoed in monotone. 

Very well. Grantaire decided he could wait for his commands. All the better that they sit in silence. That is, until the silence deepened, looming, sharpening every staticked breath and every keyboard click as Grantaire adjusted his gryphon’s course above the continent, flying towards where Enjolras waited at the raid entrance. 

“What’s up?” He tried again, weakly, for he didn't notice he’d been holding his breath. 

“Tired,” Enjolras snapped, and the _thump_ of a closing book resounded. “You don’t sound drunk.” 

“I’ve had plenty of practice,” he drawled, so used to shrugging it off, _avoiding_. Now, it earned him a scoff.

“Whatever. As long as you’re sober for the raid. I thought we’d agreed you would take this seriously.” 

Grantaire sighed dejectedly. “Yeah, yeah, you won that one. Consider me a soldier disciplined. Moving on. Serious time.” No sooner had Grantaire said this, when a little sound only comparable to a “humphf!”--or was it a “pffumf”?--came out of Enjolras’ end of the call. Either way, it was proud and small and _adorable_ and oh, Grantaire couldn’t help it, he straight-up giggled. Mortifying.

“ _What?_ ” Oh, he was in trouble now, but, well, too late, oh jeez… 

“You are cute and I am, like, still a little buzzed. Let’s work it out, shall we?” 

Enjolras sputtered, bless him. As to whether it was rage or embarrassment, not a soul would have been able to tell. 

“Okay, okay, changing the subject. School is serious, no? Talk school to me.”

\-----

Grantaire should not have changed the subject. It was now 9:05 P.M. and the raid call was full. 

“----if you would just pull your head out of the game once a month you’d _realize_ how much of a difference people make _every day_. Please do kindly tell the last time you decided to actually listen to the news these days.”

“News? Activism? In _this_ economy? Look at yourself, Enj, you probably haven’t stuck your neck outside the safe little liberal arts bubble in the last four years! Grow up already. Besides, the only way people like you get on the news is when you do something stupid and police get hurt, or traffic gets blocked. Like, why are you bothering? If you want the average citizen to get on your side, you don’t block their fucking roads and retreat back to your campus dens when you’ve had enough of playing hero. You’re a student, this should sound familiar to you: make friends, Enjolras, leave it to the politicians to fuck with the people. They don’t need radicals fucking with them as well. People have lives to live, here. Isn’t that the _point_ of having politics in the first place? Also, you split an infinitive.” Grantaire was on fire, churning out point and counterpoint like he was back in school himself, putting up a fuss with some hot new teacher fresh out of college. He imagined Enjolras as one of those hot teachers, damn him. 

“Oh my _god_ , are you even listening to me?! If--” 

“Enjolras, if I may?” Combeferre interceded. Victory for Grantaire, evidently. Sighs of relief were heard around the call, all those afraid to say anything before Combeferre made his deus ex machina. Enjolras clearly wanted to object, but Ferre had a _way_ , it seemed. “Thank you, very good. Hi all, thanks for being on time today. This is a gear run for Grantaire, so all the leather, staves, and healing trinkets go to him. Mounts and pets are given out randomly, as per usual.”

“Thanks. Cheers all,” Grantaire purred, still high on likely the most exhilarating hour-long argument of his life. It had started out mundane enough with school, until Enjolras started on about his thesis which was, as Grantaire soon discovered, as ridiculous as the rest of his beliefs. But by the stars, it was precious. He felt himself talking to a foolhardy, fiery, guild-leading paradigm of all the hope and passion in the world: a thousand hands reaching out of the darkness, working together to communicate the future through sheer force of zeal. If not for Combeferre, Grantaire would have been content to blow all his words onto that fire, if only to feed it higher. Enjolras was so fucking _real_ as if Grantaire could reach out, grab the static, faraway avatar and pull an invisible, faceless person from the screen. 

A study in dazzlement. 

[Enjolras] whispers: I’m not done with you.  
To [Enjolras]: i sure hope not 

So he was a little bit hooked, and perhaps a teeny, weeny bit masochistic--or was it sadistic? It couldn’t be helped, his heart was still pounding and he was torn between telling Enjolras to relax and riling him as soon as they had a moment’s break. It was going to be a long night.

A bunch of extra monster spawns stood between the team and the boss fights. Nevertheless, the group was worked to elite precision by Enjolras and Jehan’s signals. The three fish bosses didn’t put up much of a struggle. Admittedly, Grantaire was rather impressed as he watched the deft figures ebb and flow around the plaza like the fine work of a machine. Grantaire only popped a rejuvenation circle around the center of the map and doused Enjolras in some lingering healing spells while the man himself gave orders to the offensive for attack transitions.

“Group 1.”

…

“Group 2.”

Hypnotic, almost. Grantaire continued letting his spells do the work for him as the team got down to business. He could just keep enjoying that staccato, resonant voice. Until, that is...

[Enjolras] whispers: Did you mean what you said earlier?

Grantaire raised his eyebrows. Enjolras was a blaze of fury against remaining fish guy, dodging and weaving with the best of them. But he could type at the same time, apparently. 

To [Enjolras]: which part? at the time probably. shit just comes out of my mouth when i think it  
[Enjolras] whispers: Oh  
[Enjolras] whispers: Focus.

A clear misdirection, the boss was almost down. Feuilly was half-empty, but it was nothing to worry about as far as healing was concerned. Fine, he thought, letting it go and filling Feuilly back to full anyway. He could press Enjolras about his inane questions later.

The last fish dude died, dropping some cloth bracers and chainmail boots, both useless to Grantaire’s class. The loot went to Joly for disenchanting. For Grantaire, a long night indeed.

\----

Enjolras had his mic muted after the Protectors of the Endless fight, or, ”the fish ones” to some. As far as Combeferre had to know, he was still seething over the stupid, pointless argument. What did Grantaire know about politics, anyway? About healthcare? He took back the assumption as quickly as he thought it. Lately, he had been doing better than _jumping to conclusions_ , as Cosette so lightly called it, but it had been awhile since he had found an opponent so frustrating. Grantaire listened so well, damn him, and took advantage of the slightest verbal misstep. If Enjolras was being short, it was definitely Grantaire's fault for provoking it. Still, it was up to Enjolras to be the bigger person and shut up. As far as the rest of them had to know, Combeferre could lead the raid. And Grantaire? Grantaire could feel anything. He didn’t care. 

_’You are cute and I am, like, still a little buzzed’_  
_shit just comes out of my mouth when i think it_

Alas, he was screwed. 

Of course, it was embarrassing to be caught up in arms with the new recruit, but even moreso to be caught so _confused_ , then to back down from it. The worst part was that Enjolras never even got a word in edgeways. After-the-fact, he went over damage control of his own arguments, a series of half-baked conjectures which he was barely able to introduce before Grantaire pounced on the weakest link, gleefully opening holes wherever Enjolras turned. And maybe, just _maybe_ , Enjolras hadn’t been his sharpest self throughout. A sinking feeling told him that, too, it was definitely Grantaire’s fault. 

To be clear, Enjolras didn’t mind being daft about flirting, he really didn’t. All his life, getting to identify as a gay guy had been one matter, but actually getting around to _dating_ another guy had been a different challenge altogether. Not that he lacked offers, but that he got so overwhelmed in loud, stuffy rooms with human bodies far too close to his own, or with being watched across the hall, across the class. He was uncomfortable with the idea that people saw his body and made a value judgement of that before anything else. And he knew it was his body. Once people got to know Enjolras, they'd either run the other way, or respect him from a distance. People who actually liked him were few and far-between, and they all were in the guild. In order find someone who really _like_ -liked him, the best place was, ironically, in a place like an online video game. Online, all he had to show for himself was his personality. It was probably why he had never been “cute” to anyone online. Until Grantaire. 

But was it flirting? Moreover, did he want to encourage it? Enjolras had misjudged his own feelings before, leading him to beg then-senior Feuilly to join the guild during Enjolras' freshman year, or 'asking out' Combeferre on a 'date' for coffee after pitching poly sci theory at each other in the library a few times. Growing up, before he even came out, he wondered if he had something for Lamarque. On every count, he had mistaken his own platonic affection for something more. He lived on, content with the friends around him. 

Then there was Grantaire. Flippant, gutsy, abrasive, _Grantaire_ , and suddenly Enjolras hardly knew what to do with himself again. With Grantaire’s behavior thus far, he should be outraged--no--he _should_ focus on the fight and move out of the void zone opening up under his avatar’s feet, shit, shit, clear. He whipped back into the fight with ferocity. 

Most of all, Enjolras was acutely aware that of the fact that Grantaire could be anyone behind the screen. He bristled, bearing back the stories of stalkers who tried to take advantage of Cosette, Eponine, Courfeyrac, and Musichetta alike. The passage of time made Enjolras no less horrified by these events, nor ready to dismiss that the idea that such things could happen to him. 

He dipped back into the Tsulong’s sunbeam to dispel the stacks of sha energy from his character, eyeing that no one spent too long in the ray and used it up. He saw another trash mob spawn through the beam and aggroed it off of Marius. 

He trusted Eponine, and under normal circumstances, he would trust any one of her friends without question, but Grantaire had shown himself to be distracting at best and perverse at his worst. On the other hand, he hadn’t failed to step up to Enjolras’ expectations, at least as far as raiding was concerned. One might even say he was nothing but well-informed, articulate, and straightforward. But he also called Enjolras _’cute’_ , which managed to change everything. 

So usually, Enjolras didn’t mind being a little clueless about flirting, but just this once he wished he could know for sure if Grantaire was straight, or if Grantaire was just making fun of him, or if making fun of him was actually a _good_ thing? He remained embarrassed, and simmered in silence for some time.

More bosses fell before Enjolras’ gilded sword, and loot had to be sorted. At one point, some leather armor was being discussed on-call, and Grantaire chattering about something related. Infuriating.

“Rrrrrg, fuck!” Enjolras breathed, interrupting, and blushed violently. He was already stammering out a panicked apology when he remembered that his mic was off, saved by his own brilliant foresight. 

When the initial alarm wore off, Enjolras took advantage of the muted microphone to cuss Grantaire out in full, the team ignorant to his pomp all the while. 

The raid seemed to go on forever, even though they were clearing faster than on most raid nights. Of course, they downgraded from heroic difficulty to normal mode for the sake of gearing Grantaire, but the group also seemed more fluid, responding more effortlessly than usual. It really made a difference to have a real healer again, instead of forcing Feuilly to double-specialize and play his minor spells on the fly. A full raid returned them to some sense of normality. Yet, Enjolras was at a loss, both over Grantaire’s _disposition_ and what to tell Lamarque. It was Lamarque’s idea to find a replacement healer, an idea which Enjolras vehemently opposed on account of Lamarque’s presence in the community, in their friendship. Enjolras got him to agree to a _substitute_ healer, just to keep the guild going until Lamarque came back. Now, Enjolras wasn’t as sure about the substitute part. Personal grievances aside, Grantaire was proving to be a damn good healer and a great influence on team morale. And he called Enjolras cute, which was messing with his head a tiny, tiny bit. 

Only when they got to the last boss, did Enjolras turn the mic back on. Mentally, he was exhausted, too tired to commit any more thought to Grantaire and wrung out in a way that only talking to his guildmates would make bearable. Enjolras chastised himself for pushing his focus too hard too early in the week, but it was hard when the thought of Grantaire seemed to grate him like nothing else. He had class the next day, damnit, and the thesis, and oh, so many emails. He wished for the umpteenth time that college business would collectively just switch to texting. Texting could be professional enough, in his mind. 

Moving into the final stage of the boss, Enjolras thought nothing at all, guided by latent habit as he strained his eyes open into huge saucers and stared down the enemy health bar. Three percent, two percent, one perc--down. No more. All the energy left his body, drawing a deep sigh from low in his chest that turned into a yawn on its way out. A fine day’s work, and the prelude to sweet quietus...

[Guild] [Grandruff] has earned the achievement [Terrace of Endless Spring]!  
[Guild] [Grandruff] has earned the achievement [Terrace of Endless Spring Guild Run]!

“Grats!”  
“Nice run guys.”  
“Good run!”  
“Thanks all.”  
“Grats R!”  
“Ooo, look at the drop!”  
“Grats, nice run.”  
“Thank you everyone!”  
“Oh yeah, that’s druid gear. Go ahead, R.”  
“Heh, thanks all. Don’t mind if I dooo~” He sounded pleased.  
“Thank you for the first run, Grantaire. You’re welcome to join us on Thursday.” Enjolras managed coolly, and grateful for it.  
“Even though I drove you nuts?” Grantaire tested. Enjolras rolled his eyes dramatically, unable to help himself.  
“Believe what you must.” 

[Grandruff] whispers: hey  
To [Grandruff]: We’re still in the call. You don’t need to pst.  
[Grandruff] whispers: sure but wanna do a bg?

Enjolras scoffed. A battleground? _After a raid?_ PvP late at night on a Monday? He stole a look at the clock. Mark that, early in the morning on a Tuesday. He could never, he had a morning class mere hours away. He needed to get coffee before and maybe shower and put on _pants_...

To [Grandruff]: It’s pretty late.  
[Grandruff] whispers: pooh pooh dont gimme that  
To [Grandruff]: I’m giving no such thing.  
[Grandruff] whispers: then why r u using pst instead of the call

He could always get more coffee in the morning...

“G’night all, I feel the call of my Chetta and Eagl~” Joly’s line dropped abruptly.  
[Guild] [Jollllli] has gone offline.

“Me too. Wait, uh, like, good night. Not literally ‘too’. I mean good night. Okay. Bye.” Marius left in a hurry. 

To [Grandruff]: Fine, you win.  
To [Grandruff]: Don’t let it go to your head. Invite me to a new group after I’m done wrapping up.  
[Grandruff] whispers: yessir

“Anything else, all?” Enjolras offered. 

A few people had questions about logistics for Thursday's raid. Cosette and Marius had said in advance that they’d be busy, but Musichetta and Bahorel were lined up to replace them. One by one, the team signed off the call and until Enjolras and Grantaire remained. They switched to a private call to clear up the group chat for the night. 

Joining the line, Enjolras expected Grantaire to pick up where they left off before the raid, expected to be berated and mocked. Instead, Grantaire was exceedingly silent, only saying that he had to warp to Stormwind City before promptly casting the teleport. Even then, Grantaire never sounded more subdued. Enjolras' warp was set to a different city. He told Grantaire as much. 

“Let me just find a mage around here to teleport me back to Stormwind.”

The mage was found and the transport completed, and Grantaire didn’t even tease Enjolras for the unnecessary formality. They didn’t _need_ to be in the same place to queue for the same battleground. 

Leaving the Mage District, Enjolras found Grantaire flying laps over the city. His mount, a phoenix, billowed orange and scarlet ribbons across the faux-starry sky, dissolving fast in the creature’s wake. Watching his arrival, Grantaire pitched into a dive, falling below the horizon and into the Trade District beyond. 

The fanfare for the battleground queue rang out through Enjolras’ headphones. 

“Did you switch your specialization for PvP? Like, from healing to damage-dealing?” Enjolras asked suddenly, curious, for he’d never seen Grandruff wearing damage-boosting armor. Healers usually didn’t survive long against player attacks. They rendezvoused between the Mage and Trade Districts, on a bridge overlooking the canal.

“You tank, I heal. Bahorel and I do it all the time.” Grantaire murmured. Interesting, he didn’t take Grantaire to be a pocket-healer. Albeit, Enjolras hadn’t garnered enough impressions of him to really make any judgments of character, but this…domesticity... certainly felt rather unusual. Grantaire couldn’t really blame him for wondering.

“I gotta ask, are you okay? Is there something you wanted to talk about?” Enjolras started, knowing he was too tired to really be polite. 

“What? Yeah, actually. It’s just stupid.” Well, that wasn’t very telling. Enjolras grimaced. "I'm okay, it's stupid. In fact, you don't have to stay, really."

"Uh, no, no, I'm down for PvP. I mean...Did I do something wrong?" He knew it was a pathetic attempt at making amends, but he could blame it on his very real exhaustion. 

“You're asking me? I thought I was the one being assessed for worthiness and all that. It's _your_ guild.” 

"Well...I...Nevermind. You're sure there's nothing wrong?" Enjolras mumbled, blushing. 

“No, you great doofus,” charmed? Amused? Better than offended, Enjolras supposed, “Its just been a very long time since I’ve healed for a raid, you know.” 

The battleground started, and Grantaire sped out to the front of the blue team, Enjolras close at his heels.

“We didn’t pressure you too much, did we?” He couldn’t blame Grantaire if it were true. It was a weird situation for everyone in the guild. 

“No, no, that’s not it at all,” Uh-oh, no he didn’t like that strain in Grantaire’s voice, “like, well, there _is_ pressure, but mostly I just can’t believe it, yeah? I _had_ to leave that last guild, but then I was an idiot for going on my own for so long. Sure, Bahorel and Eponine aren’t nothing, but...it’s nice to...do _this_ , too. To raid. It’s something I can do with myself, and don’t say ‘I can do anything with myself’ because that isn’t true.” Grantaire finished loudly, as if he were used to proving this particular point. Enjolras made a pensive noise, split between looking for enemies on-screen and looking for words. "Fuck, nevermind. I'm sorry. I talk too much." Enjolras wanted to excuse him, but they were already riding into first capture point, there was no time for more.

At first, Grantaire agreed that it was all clear. Yet, Enjolras had barely activated the flag when a rogue revealed herself from stealthy oblivion and stunned his character helpless. For a painful seven seconds, he watched his avatar flop around in vain as Grantaire's worgen exchanged blows on his behalf. When he could finally move again, he charged the rogue not a moment too soon, as Grantaire's little green health bar started to throb dangerously red. 

"Nice comeback. Get the flag."

“Mhm." And then, when the assault was no longer a distraction, an imminent silence fell over the call, only broken by the scuff-scuff sound of Enjolras activating the capture point. Enjolras, supremely out of his comfort zone, thought on his feet. "This guild became a thing almost as soon as I started playing, so I guess I can’t _really_ relate, but I think I know what you mean, like in feeling attached to a guild. I, well, I can’t bear the idea of letting it all go, losing that connection with my friends, even though I still see some of them every day in real life. It’s kind of the only reason I play this godforsaken game anymore. Ever since--” Enjolras gulped, steeling himself, “--well, ever since people started graduating, its been hard to make the club work. We still meet a lot, but shit gets moved around and people get replaced and I’m just doing it all for the _people_ , you know? Not just the people I’m fighting for but the people I fight _with_. The guild’s the only thing that’s really gonna hold us all together. It feels like I’m the only person who has it in me to keep going, especially since then Lamarque…” He the words hooked painfully in his throat, and he made a 360 back to Grantaire. “...But losing a whole guild at once?” He shook his head. “‘Can’t imagine…” Enjolras trailed off, righting himself fitfully in his seat out of self-consciousness. As Enjolras finished capturing the base, a lonely bugle sung for the blue team across the map.

“Yeah, that’s it. And Lamarque--...he, he’s not your fault, you know.” Grantaire said tiredly, not without sincerity. 

At the second mention of Lamarque, Enjolras went rigid. He felt the cramp in his knees from too long sitting still, the numbness in his extremities. He felt like spitting _’you don’t know shit about that’_. He only looked down at his hands and said: “What made you leave your other guild, anyway?” 

“You want my answer to this or the full story?” _What was that supposed to mean?!_

“Er, both?” Enjolras, confused, remounted his war horse, wordlessly signaling Grantaire to follow. Grantaire hopped on the seat of his phoenix and rode out with him towards the next capture point.

“The way I see it, I wanted to express a little pride in the guild chat, and they told me to my face that bisexuality was a myth, among other, less PG things. Oh, and Eponine got outed. She said she already told you guys, so...Anyway, the full story is that it happened to a few people, and the officer who tried to stand up for us got kicked out. A few of us decided to walk out on our own before putting up with more bullshit.” Oh, fuck, of course he wasn’t straight. Who _would_ be straight, in _this_ economy? Enjolras made a mental note to remember that line for Courfeyrac. 

“You, Eponine, and Bahorel?” 

“Yeah, and a few others. The whole guild is disbanded now though, last I checked. 

“Shit, that's awful. You think you know people on this game and then...shit happens. I mean--” What did he mean? “What I _mean_ to say is it won’t happen again. Not here. This guild is here because of people like us. It’s...safe.” Enjolras would blame his tact on the late hour. The leap of his pulse was just part of the headache, too.

A pause from Grantaire, then, “Yeah?” _Us? Do you mean you’re…,_ Enjolras heard. It would’ve saved them both time and effort if Enjolras had geared up with a rainbow helmet and booty shorts. 

“Yeah,” There it was, right there for Grantaire to see, practically begging him to make a move. 

“Woah, you're too far ahead, I can't heal you from here. move back a bit.” 

“Oh, whoops--” the same rogue had evidently returned, and sapped Enjolras down to thrash at his incapacitated form.

“Aaaaand too late, there you go. Right behind you now.” Indeed, Enjolras fell swiftly. From the respawn deck, Enjolras chuckled as Grantaire’s health bar got obliterated as well. A worgen-shaped ghost promptly warped into existence next to Enjolras’ human one. 

“Doofus,” Grantaire scolded. 

“You’ve already used that one, we both know you can do better.”

“You’ll wish you hadn’t said that.” 

“Try me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Appendix, huzzah!  
> -Grantaire's phoenix is an in-game mount in World of Warcraft, known as the Ashes of Al'ar. It it a classically coveted item for its beauty and rarity, for it has a mere 1.8% of dropping from its raid boss. Grantaire's possession of this mount is both a show of his excellence as a long-time player, as well as, like, the obvious *sYmBoliSM*


	4. GL HF

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where it all goes down. Basically the 'angst & slow burn' part that I'm rushing through because I have a life to get back to, damnit. 
> 
> Warnings in this chapter for frisky Enjolras (that means NSFW folks. Brief, but there will be more later ;)), and generally certain people second-guessing themselves all the time and *wiggles fingers* misunderstanding each other. Also, Enjolras has hella ADD that I'm projecting just 'cause? Anyway no one's neurotypical but he kinda gets very stressed about it this chapter. 
> 
> Note that the chapters will keep coming, and will all be posted, but it's taking a very long time to edit now. Please be patient and all kudos/criticisms/demands are welcome encouragement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GL HF- "Good luck, have fun"  
> 1\. A polite gesture, said to players who are about to undertake a difficult objective, such as a battle or a social interaction. This acronym has since become part of common vernacular.
> 
> **Apologies to anyone who read the previous few chapter before I edited....I mixed up Simone and Musichetta's names a few times >.<

Grantaire didn’t know what he had been thinking, practically asking Enjolras out for the night, and for _PvP_ of all things. 

He had felt like seizing the moment apparently, until the moment passed and he realized that he'd just finished his first _raid_ , with the guild, and that he could get used to it. People were saying their goodbyes and their well-wishes and it was all so painfully domestic that Grantaire didn’t trust himself not to choke up a little as he and Enjolras got into a private call. But then, fate decided to be even more cruel, because Enjolras was _sweet_ and _intense_ and paying attention to him; anyone would get a little emotional. 

So they had some feelings. And they might have come out to each other. Maybe. It was a little unclear. Either way, Grantaire was so, so, royally screwed. Now that he had fed his weakness for the little bastard, Grantaire couldn’t stop thinking about how it could blow up in his face. Enjolras only wanted a competent healer in lieu of his sick friend. They hardly knew each other anyway, and what if Grantaire had misinterpreted? What if Enjolras was tired and overworked and just needed to vent? What if he wasn’t single? These what if’s occupied the worst oblivion for him. All of Grantaire’s futures now depended on Enjolras’ slightest judgement, the barest say-so. He kept these thoughts to himself when he talked to Bahorel.

To [Bahhumbug]: but i still dont KNOW how hes gonna react  
[Bahhumbug] whispers: what do you have to lose? he’s warming up to you at least  
To [Bahhumbug]: r u kidding??!!11 i literally just joined and we were fuckin yelling at each other before the raid!!! you WARNED ME to do eXACTLY NOT THAT  
[Bahhumbug] whispers: alright i wasn’t there, but you didn’t fight later right?  
To [Bahhumbug]: no but i was going easy on him he was too tired for that shit  
[Guild] [Merryus]: Does someone have a 2 person mount? I’m stuck in the Jade Forest D:  
[Bahhumbug] whispers: he still could’ve held the grudge. he’s not known for being flexible, you know. this could be a truce  
To [Bahhumbug]: to what end, bahorel? what the fuck is inside his pretty little head?  
[Bahhumbug] whispers: uh?/ ask him???????? how do you think simone and i started dating?  
[Guild] [Allisferre]: Can you fly out on your own?  
To [Bahhumbug]: FUCKK but he doesnt know im such a creep thats totoally not ok  
[Guild] [Merryus]: I can’t afford flying training :(((( I’m stuck in a hole and the monkeys keep attacking me  
[Guild] [Callcosette]: Omg where are you! I’m up north I can fly down and fish you out. (>^.^)>  
[Guild] [Allisferre]: Are you close to 2.5k gold? I can cover some of the training bills  
[Bahhumbug] whispers: .... fine, have it your way. can i make fun of you for this now?  
To [Bahhumbug]: go ahead  
[Guild] [Merryus]: Noo :(( I spent 30k on a black tabby cat at the auction house :( can i have 100g for armor repair though? 

Of course Bahorel meant well, but he didn't seem to recognize that dating via video games raised some _issues_ , namely that Grantaire was a catfishing creeper who used friendship as a means of receiving sexual favors. Even Grantaire himself could hardly believe that he _believed_ in Enjolras' earnest charm so wholly, so immediately. No one had any reason to trust his honest word on that, Enjolras least of all.

It could only end badly. Worst of all, Grantaire felt himself getting more and more attached. It was just like before, when he'd made friends with all those other people online, and one by one they all disappeared. Only, now he'd found someone really special and he was going to lose that one too, one way or another. It was only a matter of how and when, and Grantaire could only hope to hang onto the best memories. 

He just wanted a little more time before Enjolras sent him on his way.

\-----

Tuesday passed and Enjolras didn’t log in. Already on-edge about all things Enjolras, Grantaire assumed he was at fault, but Combeferre confirmed that he was just busy. Enjolras hadn’t said anything about being busy that day, but the subject didn’t really come up, so it was possible that Enjolras wasn’t _explicitly_ avoiding him. That didn’t stop Grantaire from agonizing, though. He even kept the mobile app on under the counter at work, but to no avail.

Tuesday fell into Wednesday, and Grantaire was beginning to have serious doubts about the state of their so-called truce. And, lo and behold, Wednesday night after Grantaire’s shift, Courfeyrac casually mentioned that Enjolras would be busy. Again. Figured. 

[Guild] [Grandruff]: hm the labors of a college student never end huh?  
[Guild] [Courfayyy]: He’s a ghoul and an outlier, I swear! I think hes in the library. It’s basically his home rn. Pls save him, anyone  
[Guild] [Jolllly]: Srry busy! I need to finish my daily quests DDDDD:  
[Guild] [Jehanfly]: I’m busy too. I’m close to buying a xuen cub from this vendor...our ηγέτης is beautiful but not that beautiful =v.v=  
[Guild] [Courfayyy]: OMGMGG RLLY??? PLS PLS SEND SCREENSHOT WHEN U GET IT THOSE ARE SOOOOO CUTREEE

Grantaire smirked despite himself. Save him, eh? At that point, he was so fed up with overthinking Enjolras-this, Enjolras-that, that he jumped on the chance to distract himself. 

Stopping his character in an empty glade, Grantaire tabbed out and leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms and grabbing his phone as he went. Sufficiently comfortable, he pulled up Enjolras’ contact, which featured a crown emoji next to the name (a quip he found delightful after a bit of drinking). A tap later, and Grantaire waited for the line to pick up. "Rlllllll, rlllll,..." he purred in harmony with the dial tone. 

_”This is Enjolras. Please leave your name and number and I’ll get back to--”_ As nice as it was to hear Enjolras’ voice, it was better to hear him when he would, like, actually respond. 

“Oh, you’re not doing this to me that easily,” he growled, tapping the icon again. Voicemail. Unfortunately for Enjolras, Grantaire was in a persistent mood.

He was relentless, committing a whole ten minutes to the task of filling Enjolras’ phone with missed call notifications. Eventually, however, the ringtone was cut short. 

“What the fuck, who is this? Do you know what time it is?” Grantaire got an earload of a wrathful, snarling Enjolras.

What’s more, he got an eyeful. 

“Shit!” Grantaire yelped, “Shit I am so sorry I thought I pressed call button shit I- uh, shit, shit.” Enjolras didn’t move his face (wait, freakout moment, _his face_ ) away from view, so Grantaire thrust the phone out until Enjolras wasn’t getting a full frontal of his nose. "Well?" Enjolras tried again when Grantaire was silent, not meeting his eyes but gawking at the halo of frizz crowning Enjolras’ head, then the sharp frame of his forehead, and the worry lines that paved rivers across it. He noticed a wide, tamed browline which cut off abruptly above the soft slopes of his cheekbones. He followed them down, down the path to a strong, tense jaw and lips that looked well-acquainted with the wonders of chapstick. His eyes-- His eyes looked straight into him. Enjolras blinked dumbly at this exchange, and gave Grantaire a once-over, before the spark of uncertain recognition finally lit up his face, softening all his hard edges a little. At least, the look of shock was better than rage. 

“Really?! You apologize for facetiming me, but _not_ the other thirty-plus calls?” Enjolras shook his head as he said it, flapping little red earbud wires across the camera “Couldn’t this wait until, I don’t know, Thursday? I’m _busy._ ” Okay, touche, Grantaire was looking pretty desperate right about then. But oh, it was worth it. _Hot_ , Grantaire’s brain reminded, stating the obvious. 

Grantaire hoped his laugh didn’t sound completely high-strung. "It's Thursday in a few hours, isn't that close enough? And Courf sent me on a mission to, and I quote, ‘save you’. Who am I to turn down my humanitarian duty to the guild?” Grantaire said, trying to sound playful, then failing as he squeaked on his last words, turning the rhetorical question sheepish. Courfeyrac’s bidding was a weak excuse to call in the middle of the night, but essentially it _was_ the truth. Enjolras glared anyway, champing his jaw in frustration. Curious, Grantaire’s eyes followed the motion. 

“I’m really busy. Whatever it is, I can’t tonight. I’m sorry, but It’s my thesis.” Enjolras spit out, looking away like the sharpness wasn’t directed towards Grantaire. An optimistic person might think it were regretful. Grantaire threw up a hand in submission. 

“Hey, I didn’t say anything, ser askance-a-lot. This is just your friendly neighborhood healer checking in.” Grantaire grinned nervously, cheeky partly on a defensive impulse and partly just to _watch_ his reactions. Checkmate; Enjolras’ corners perked up. He couldn’t hide a blush in that light, either. Grantaire’s pulse flew skyward to see it. He could rely on the gaudy colors from the computer screen to mask any of his own subtle reactions.

Enjolras swallowed once, looking aside as if for words. “Tell Courf that I’m fine, and that people can stop this fussing over me all hours of the day. I’m an adult."

“Sure thing, cookie-cube, sure thing.” That got a reaction too, and oh did it deliver; Enjolras’ face twisted up in a bizarre display of disgust and bashfulness-- unpretty and rather melodramatic, considering. 

“That’s not a word, that’s just _foul_.” Enjolras looked past the camera and shook his head, reaching beyond the camera’s view and dragging a spiral notebook into his lap.

“Only with that attitude. And it’s _cute_ , like you, idiot.” Grantaire didn’t even think when he said it, didn’t even feel his tongue move. 

“What?!” Grantaire suddenly had his full attention, which Grantaire met with ever-widening eyes. If Enjolras’ violent flush was anything to go by, that was all it took to say too much. 

“I--” Grantaire croaked without air, before a noise had Enjolras jerking away. From the lower camera angle, Grantaire saw his button-down-clad shoulders slouched in defeat. Cute, if not for Grantaire’s inward horror. 

“I forget myself,” Enjolras murmured a moment later, sobered “I’m in the library. I can’t. I gotta--”

“Go ahead. I’ll tell the guild you said hi.” Grantaire gritted, because words were feeling numb and traitorous in his mouth.

“That’d be great, thank you.” Grantaire hung up first, even though it killed him inside, because oh shit, that idiot just smiled at him. A tired, crooked, loopy smiled that was only possible after 10:00 P.M. or after crying. Maybe Enjolras could relate to both, the poor sod. And maybe Grantaire had no excuse jumping to any conclusions about it, but Enjolras was too cute (and hot, yes he was hot) and Grantaire was thirsty. Red alert, thirst levels reached maximum capacity.

But what did it _mean_ , Grantaire wondered, as he reimagined Enjolras in his mind’s eye. Grantaire knew firsthand that a blush and a smile could be out of nervousness, a last resort to being backed into a corner with nowhere to go. Could Enjolras be one of those people? If not, what did Grantaire do to incite one? It was a dangerous scale, on one end with Enjolras becoming extremely uncomfortable, and the other end an ambiguous...tolerance? Or was it polite confusion? Anything but mildly interested, now that Enjolras had seen his face. It wasn’t a grade-A view. But oh, how nice it was to think about...

He sat up, shaking himself as if from a dream, but it took a while longer to completely regain his bearings.

[Guild] [Grandruff]: enj says hi  
[Guild] [Courfayyy]: Damn whatd you DO? Im only allowed 2 sentences with him per cup of coffee >:((((((  
[Guild] [Grandruff]: lol youre a hunter. dps classes are expendable  
[Guild] [Courfayyy]: :(((((((((((((((( no fair

Courfeyrac wasn’t to blame for the accident with FaceTime, nor for Grantaire's too-revealing choice of words, so Grantaire didn't see any reason to elaborate as he looked for something to do with the rest of the night. A battleground could take the edge off, he thought as he joined a queue. But what he really needed was to gush, preferably to someone he trusted completely. Bahorel wouldn’t be awake, but perhaps Eponine? She had boy problems too, they could talk boy problems. No sooner had he dialed the number when the fanfare resounded in-game. He entered the battleground.

“Yeah?”

“Ep, you’re not gonna believe this.”

\----

Enjolras couldn't focus. Making him lose sleep--both figuratively and literally--was one thing, but calling him in the library? Unbelievable, simply unbelievable, and now he couldn’t even work. It was only midnight and he couldn’t work. 

His gaze flicked back and forth between his notebook and the laptop, searching for answers, for encouragement, whatever he was thinking when he first made the outline of the paper. Enjolras-from-twenty-minutes-ago had finished the first draft of the introduction. He knew it because the screen had a paragraph-shaped polygon on it. He didn’t know what its area was made of. Words, probably, but he observed none. 

His fingers clenched and unclenched around the phone. Seeing it, he realized he should call Grantaire back, chastise him for wasting Enjolras’ precious time, but that in and of itself would be a waste of time and he needed to focus, see, focus, focus. 

It was no use. In rare form, Enjolras gave up and walked away, all the way out the library and back to his dorm, where he wouldn’t get any work done, either. That space was meant for sleeping, gaming, and sometimes crying. It could serve no other purpose as long as it contained his own bed and his own computer. 

At the moment, what Enjolras needed was the bed. He shucked his clothes off with perfunctory speed, trembling from the nocturnal chill and itching to just relax. Relax, he thought, throwing himself into the mattress.

\-----

Thirty minutes under the covers, and Enjolras’ patience was wearing thin. As much as he twisted himself up into increasingly cozy “noodle” positions (as Musichetta liked to call it), the stubborn gooseflesh up and down his body raised every little hair like a live wire, making him hyper-aware of every fold in the blanket, or something tickling his foot, or the phantom bugs landing on his back, which turned out to be motes of dust. Even the sound of his breath was too jagged in his ears. _Ridiculous._ He thought back to Grantaire, how if Grantaire hadn't been so infuriating by calling him at the library, he’d be working right now instead of shaking and miserable. 

Frustrated, he cast the blankets on the floor with one mighty tug, and tucked close to himself on the bare sheet, curled his knees up and-- _oh._ Enjolras shuddered as his thighs pressed his half-hard dick against his belly, _what the fuck_.

It was in that moment that Enjolras considered his options.

Enjolras wasn’t really a guy known to get _deprived_. A lifestyle riding on perpetual stress and very real anxiety happened to put a dampener on sex-related urges. Objectively, he didn’t see the point of it in his own life. When he did get himself off, it was...well, he couldn’t really remember the last time, which was telling all on its own. He could feel aroused, contrary to popular belief, but he wasn’t going to go out of his way to make time for it. 

Evidently, the universe didn’t care, and had made time for it anyway, whether it convenienced him or not. A quick glance at the clock told Enjolras that he couldn’t calm down and wait it out. For the purpose of going to sleep, the most efficient option happened to be the sexy one, go figure. 

Pacing his breaths, one-two-three, he grappled for some lotion on the bedside table and smeared some into his palm. Feeling its weight, he let himself stretch out onto his back, feet flat on the mattress. One hand to jerk off, and the other...the other could prop up his head. Easy. Now if he could just…

He hissed through his teeth as he wrapped the hand around himself, just curled in a loose “o” around the base of his cock. He was so twitchy that he counted his breaths a little while longer before tightening the loop into a fist, pumping it slowly at first, then speeding up as he started to work himself up. No big deal.

No big deal, until things about _Grantaire_ started to come to him, unbidden. Grantaire teased him on call, called him dopey names, Grantaire checked in on him, and checked him out for sure. Enjolras saw the little glances. Wired as he was, Enjolras’ mind twisted the memories. Grantaire was ogling him all over with that cheeky grin from earlier, like he knew he had Enjolras figured out. Grantaire telling him to go ahead, _show him_ what a little slut he was for him right now. 

Enjolras gasped, sitting up and throbbing with shame. “Hnnnnn,” he keened, wanting to cover himself in the darkness and put those thoughts away, never to be acknowledged again. He couldn’t get off to someone he practically just met, for pity’s sake, especially someone in the group. Precome mixed with lotion slid freely over his hand, pooling up there as the undeniable proof of his fall from grace. It was _wrong_ and _dirty_ and hell if Enjolras didn’t just feel his cock jump in his grasp. He couldn’t remember feeling more desperate in his life. 

Shame only pushed Enjolras deeper into himself, thinking how Grantaire could call right now if he wanted to, could see what Enjolras was doing and Enjolras would show him, he’d do anything he said. He was breathing little ah-ah’s now every time he pumped himself, planting his feet wider on the bed and leaning back as if Grantaire was really there, _fuck_. 

But what if he took one look at Enjolras and turned up his nose? What if he left Enjolras hard and wanting? He could do that. He might also punish him for acting so needy and push him down on the bed. He could tell him to touch himself or trap Enjolras’ hands together and do it himself, relentless until he screamed or soft and fleeting until he begged.

“Pleeeeaase,” he whined, shocked how meek he sounded but bucking up into his hand anyway. It was too late to pretend he was in control at that point. He wanted and wanted, he’d do anything. 

“Pleaspleaspleaseee use me fuck me mark me make me yours Grantaaaire!” With the free hand, he started pulling his own hair viciously, and Grantaire’s name turned into a drawn-out howl. What remained of Enjolras’ senses told him to roll over, to muffle it into the pillow and stop drawing so much attention to himself from the other flats. Groaning, he rolled to press his face and shoulders into the pillow, propping his knees so that his ass was exposed and the rest of him was flopped forward. Not only was he quieter like this, but shit he could also really imagine someone, Grantaire, pushing him down like this, open and helpless, then sliding a hand around the back of his neck and _holding him there_ while he did anything--teased him, jerked him, spanked him, groped him, fucked him, owned him--he wouldn’t see any of it coming in the dark, bent over. Enjolras whimpered and fisted his cock harder, knowing he was making such a mess on the sheets but spreading his knees wider for Grantaire to see, making a show of it so Grantaire would want to make him come. The hand in his hair twisted cruelly and pulled taut, pressing himself to the pillow like he really was restrained. What else could Grantaire do, he wondered, to restrain him? How long would he leave him like this and drive him wild with need before he took pity on his dirty slut and let him come all over himself? 

And then Enjolras did just that. 

He didn’t have the energy to touch himself through the aftershocks, just collapsed in his own cum and groaned for a while into the pillow, boneless. However, the embrace of sleep started to tempt his senses and he still had to get up and clean himself before he joined it. He shuddered at the sticky remains as he propped himself up and shuffled for a washcloth in the darkness. No washcloth, but he found some dirty socks which would have to suffice until he ran the sheet through the coin wash. The nerves were gone, but the shame lingered as he wiped himself and the bed, feeling like he’d objectified Grantaire for sex when he should’ve controlled himself. Yet, it seemed that his efforts ultimately paid off. He was asleep before he hit the pillow. 

\----

When raid day rolled in, Enjolras wasn’t prepared. He forgot to take his meds when he left his room, and only remembered when it was too late to go back. Every movement made him feel suffused with lead and his focus was sapped. He grabbed extra coffee with Courfeyrac to make up for the sluggishness, and dragged himself to his other classes in no small feat of willpower, even if he had to steal a furtive round of Tetris under the desk just to keep his thoughts from flatlining. Meeting with thesis advisor, paper-writing, another coffee...he let it all wash over him like a pale, wet vapor, trying his mightiest to keep self-disappointment from consuming him.

All the time getting distracted gave Enjolras plenty of unwanted opportunities to dwell on the night before. That being, bluntly, how he had never felt such intense lust for someone he knew, before. Not to say that he was innocent, because he knew his way around a computer--thoroughly. Back in high school, for every night he spent raiding, reading, or writing (that is, every night), adult websites were never out of reach, and he used them to his strategic advantage. Paired with one or two trusty, well-hidden sex toys (he learned moderation after rooming with Bossuet freshman year of college, when a vibrating dildo was once mistaken for a handheld massager), getting total stimulation was Enjolras' answer to beating off while beating the clock. 

But later in college, his schedule had gone from tight to egregious, and there was simply not enough time left to indulge himself regularly. Still, when months passed without time for himself, he never fantasized about other students as some sort of replacement for porn. Porn was just bodies to him--people who were payed to display their bodies for the sole purpose of arousing his own body. But the people he saw in real life were more than the sum of their body parts, and he couldn't dehumanize them without their consent by becoming attracted to them sexually.

He knew he was unusual in this feeling, so he never raised a word against other people's right to love and lust safely. Meanwhile, he kept his own feelings strictly professional, even though it went against his natural sexuality. 

So what had changed? What was so different about Grantaire that made him lose control? Enjolras thought about it although it ashamed him, because finding some logical answer was better than living in confusion. Unfortunately, his rattled focus only served to make him more confused as he tried to analyze the situation. He became frustrated quickly, exacerbating his concentration even further. The day was unproductive and miserable enough that he called on Combeferre for a lifeline.

Today: 4:45 PM  
**>** Did you forget your meds this morning?  
**<** You know me too well.  
**>** Did you take them now?  
**<** I’m waiting for them to kick in. Can you stall the raid a little longer?  
**>**...Are you sure you want to join tonight? I can take over.  
**<** I’m okay Ferre, just give me twenty minutes.

It would be hard to lead the raid, but studying would be impossible. The third option would be staring at the wall, unable to bring himself to think and shaking under the pressure to do _something_ productive. Leading the raid was a small discomfort, by comparison. Thankfully, he didn’t need to wait much longer before the meds kicked in.

“Sorry all. Combeferre probably told you guys about me, but sorry to hold everything up.” 

Musichetta shushed him. “No worries, Feuilly had to grab some food anyway. He’ll be back soon, probably?” Indeed, Feuilly’s diminutive gnome priest was squatting next to the portal, unattended. 

“You sure you're up to it, ‘guv?” That was Grantaire’s voice, inquisitive, smoothed over with careful suspicion-- or concern?

Enjolras rolled back into his chair, sighing under the weight of the day’s stress. “Yeah, it's not the first time it's my--”

“--You took your meds now right? _After_ eating?”

“Yes, Joly, I--”

“And not the full dose right? There was one time you said--”

“Headaches, I remember. No, I took less. I'll be able sleep _fine_ after this, but your concern is appreciated.” Enjolras said fondly, which seemed to placate Joly some. 

“What about _Grantaire’s_ concerns?” Courfeyrac. Enjolras paled. Grantaire was dangerously silent. 

“Is there a problem?” Enjolras asked slowly, methodically, trying to make up for the tension he knew would give away himself away. 

And Courfeyrac was just a fucking bundle of joy, wasn’t he. “Oh, nuthing, Grantaire was just _very_ concerned if you could make it today.” 

It came out of nowhere. Enjolras reeled, his stomach and neck tightening on a reflex as he struggled to react quickly enough.

“That is understandable, since he’s our newest member. Quite appreciated, but, again, unnecessary. Now, if we all could focus, we should be able to clear a few trash spawns at the entrance until Feuilly comes back.” It sounded obtuse, even to his ears, but there were only a few more _enlightened_ comments before it felt safe to continue, and even then, Enjolras didn’t press his luck. Feuilly would have to catch up with them later.

[Courfayyy] whispers: xoxoxooxoxoxxxxo

Grantaire still said nothing, only PM'ing Enjolras with an apology for the “rumors” and people “jumping to conclusions”. Anyway, it was clear he didn’t want to be implicated with Enjolras that way. Enjolras remembered the night before, and again felt sick with himself. 

Contrary to Enjolras’ worries, the team cleared through the encounters with the mechanical precision that they exercised on Monday. Grantaire had a few questions prepared regarding individual cues in certain fights, but he proved himself to be incredibly flexible to the situation at hand, as before. He would make a become an excellent healer, Enjolras decided, bittersweet. The raid team was back and, if things continued as they were, the guild was safe. He still didn’t know what to do about the attraction. He still didn’t know what to tell Lamarque.

Only half-lucid, Enjolras let the raid play out before him. He knew all the team’s cues, and it wasn’t that hard to deal minimal damage while he rattled them off. Then, in the middle of trash mob skirmish, Enjolras jumped at the sound of another game chat notification. 

[Grandruff] whispers: u free later?  
To [Grandruff]: I need proper rest in order to recover from today. I’m relying on being productive tomorrow.  
[Grandruff] whispers: o. what abt this weekend?

Enjolras felt a few things at once. Firstly, unhappy that he was, truly, too tired to PvP with Grantaire that night. Secondly, relieved that he had avoided an interaction with Grantaire which might have incited his throbbing dick to mutiny. Thirdly, appalled at the realization that he did not know his own schedule for the weekend. Fourthly, terrified of making himself commit to see Grantaire that weekend, which would only delay the inevitable dick-surrection, which was apparently part of his vocabulary now. He tried to weigh his options before he responded, ultimately reacting on gut-feeling and immediately regretting it. 

To [Grandruff]: Tomorrow evening?  
[Grandruff] whispers: sure thing kael’thas  
To [Grandruff]: …  
To [Grandruff]: I don’t know if I should be disgusted or mildly impressed.  
[Grandruff] whispers: :) focus 

Damn, if only he could. 

\----

“What about _Grantaire’s_ concerns?” 

Grantaire was _this_ close to shaking the computer apart with his bare hands. Right now. He muted his mic and bent over the desk, smushing his cheek against its edge. 

“Whydoestheuniversehatemeeefuuuuuuuck,” However much he liked to rile Enjolras up, _this was not the time_. He had to talk to Enjolras properly, soon, _now_ , but he couldn’t, fuck, Enjolras was probably furious about being embarrassed by the team, furious that he would hear about the stupid crush from _Courfeyrac_ , of all people, furious with Grantaire’s petty attempt to make “friends” on Monday. Great Light, he could be so painfully transparent. 

He had been so careful not to make it sound like a big deal, either, but Musichetta and Courfeyrac had a way of wheedling it all out of him, oh boy. Well, not _all_. He never explicitly concatenated the words “I”, “like”, and “Enjolras” or anything iteration of that nature. Nor the part about how pulse jumped a little at the sound of the guy’s voice, or the thoughts that came to him before he fell asleep, but they put enough words in his mouth to raise some eyebrows and make his life absolutely cringe-worthy right then. Oh, Light, the whole team knew. 

”So you _are_ saying it’s true!” Musichetta laughed.

”Fuck, _no_ , literally Courf just said that, not me, oh for pity’s sake you people. He didn’t _tell_ me he had ADD I, I just, I didn’t expect it!? I don’t really know all the science shit. Can you guys shut up already? Enjolras’ gonna join the call any minute now and he’s gonna think I’ve got some obsession with-- fuck, you know what? Nevermind.”

”Mmmmmhmmm?” Musichetta deadpanned, unconvinced.

”Ah, so what _do_ two gamers talk about _in the private channels_ , if not uber-stimulating neurological disorders?” Why Courfeyrac, why?

Eponine scoffed before Grantaire could trip himself up again. “We get it, Courf, you’re excited for Enjolras, but R _wants_ to say he’s not used to this crap, and he’s not the only new person here.” 

Indeed, Simone and Bahorel were also silent, but then, Grantaire already lamented his plight to Bahorel, who correctly assumed that it would be fine to pass it on to Simone and Eponine. 

To Grantaire’s endless relief, Combeferre didn’t comment either. As badly as he handled Courfeyrac’s detective hijinks, he would not have been able to handle a shovel talk from Enjolras’ Serious Friend just before raiding. He even had a feeble hope that the gossip would die down before Enjolras logged in, but lo, hoping never ceased to disappoint. 

After Courfeyrac started talking, Grantaire shucked 

He didn’t hear what they said to Enjolras, curled up as he was without his headphones. He finally sat up to see Enjolras making a beeline for the entrance portal off, others in hot pursuit. Feuilly’s avatar lay neglected at the summoning stone, like Enjolras had to start without him just to end the interrogation. Grantaire felt the double agony of being the center of gossip, and forcing Enjolras into the center with him. Or in briefer terms, Grantaire had really, really fucked up now. 

Plucking his headphones off the floor, he gingerly slid the muffs over his ears as if they might burn him, meeting the silence of the call with relief. Bonus points to Enjolras for setting everyone straight. 

But it wasn’t over. Grantaire had to know what he knew, and more importantly, had to apologize for the rumors surrounding them. While the team started kicking down the first lines of enemies, he constructed his defense. It wouldn’t work in the long run, but now wasn’t the time or place to discuss Grantaire’s terms of surrender. 

To [Enjolras]: haha srry abt their rumors btw..,, ppl kinda started jumping to conclusions and im srry you got caughtj in it  
From [Enjolras]: It’s fine. Courf gets like that.

“Fine”? It had to have been awkward, surely. Without hearing Enjolras voice, without seeing his face, “fine” could still mean discomfort. What did the PvP session mean to him, now that he’d heard the rumor? Or, if Enjolras didn’t believe it now, finding out later on from Grantaire might still be catastrophic, making Grantaire just just another creepy stranger in the world of online gaming, scouring servers for a piece of ass. It was an ugly and reprehensible conclusion and Grantaire couldn’t blame him if that’s where he stood in Enjolras’ eyes. 

What’s more, Grantaire didn’t know how much longer he could keep himself under wraps before he spilled everything. It felt completely against his nature to keep his thoughts from verbalizing themselves, and he was bound to keep messing up, bound to keep getting subtle reminders that Enjolras was unattainable, bound to keep trying anyway until he was sent away altogether. Every bone in his body told him it was wrong to conceal himself, even though it would get him cast out. A shame, since he had really, really, wanted this guild to work. He’d just have to wait a few more years before getting new friends again. Or longer. 

Upcoming boss battles forced Grantaire to focus on the raid. He poured over his notes on the mechanics of each one, only speaking up to raise a few lingering questions. Despite the rough start that evening, he felt more or less confident about the raid itself. In a life plagued by vices and failings, it was an irony and a blessing that one of his bad habits gave him a space to be _useful_. He was awfully good at keeping vices, after all. 

Even better, Enjolras seemed a little pleased with Grantaire’s progress, correcting him once or twice on formations but otherwise praising his performance in quiet, agreeable “hm’s” and “mm’s”. Meanwhile, the back of his mind couldn’t help but keep worrying about _their_ progress. 

For better or for worse, they needed to _talk_ , and for that, he had to test his luck a little. 

To [Enjolras]: u free later?  
[Enjolras] whispers: I ought to get proper rest in order to recover from today. I’m relying on being productive tomorrow. 

A valid excuse. Even the mighty must have their sick days. Unhelpful, though, since he needed to dig a little deeper in order to come clear with Enjolras. If nothing else, Grantaire could take the blow and get rejected right here, right now. 

To [Enjolras]: o. what abt this weekend?

He took a while (by Enjolras metric) to respond to that one. After checking to make sure people were fully healed, Grantaire lay his head in his hands. No sooner had he done this than his headphones dinged. 

[Enjolras] whispers: Tomorrow evening?

Okay. So there was still room for dialogue, at least?

Grantaire knew he was kidding himself,

To [Enjolras]: sure thing kael’thas  
[Enjolras] whispers: …  
[Enjolras] whispers: I don’t know if I should be disgusted or mildly impressed.  
Whisper to [Enjolras]: :) focus 

...but he liked kidding himself. 

\-----

The second raid yielded a better haul of armor for Grantaire. A trinket, a robe, and some gloves joined the ensemble gracing his player. Nothing matched, and the pieces clipped into each other awkwardly, but it was progress nonetheless. Satisfied, he was already looking forward to some real, difficult progression raiding when he was geared up with the best of them. 

Everyone said promptly said their goodbyes after the the final boss, including Enjolras. Now that he wasn’t droning out signals, he sounded _exhausted_. Grantaire didn’t see the point of staying online after that, so he decided to follow suit. He turned away from the computer screen with useless, blanched-out eyes seeking the direction of his bed. 

He dreamt, but forgot everything come morning. Only his eyes remembered seeing gold. 

\-----

As per usual, Grantaire got up with barely enough time to make it to work for his Friday shift. Enjolras texted him a while later--after class, no doubt--to confirm their plans for the evening. Just a simple get-together to do some quests and talk some “things” over. Enjolras didn’t pushed him to elaborate. It was before he got busy at work, so Grantaire texted him to pass the time. He asked about Enjolras’ day, one thing led to another, and they couldn’t seem to run out of things to talk about. Sure, the majority of it devolved into moral quandaries in which both parties sharply disagreed, but on the other hand Enjolras said that he _liked_ an opposition which actually _listened_ to him. Convenient, because Grantaire liked pushing him for more. And when they got tired of it, they could talk about video games, a win-win. It was worth the judgy side-eyes that customers gave him, at least. 

They kept texting right up until Grantaire walked through the door to his apartment, when Enjolras opted in favor of calling him on their private voice channel from the computer. As much as he fell (and he was still falling deeper) for the guy, it didn’t seem right to talk about the whole “you gonna tell me to fuck off or what?” part of it yet, just as he was really getting to know the guy. Grantaire had already accepted his selfish lechery, at least he could indulge a little before the end. They talked, they queued, they PvP’ed, and they talked some more, on and on for hours, until Enjolras had to ask if they could do it again tomorrow. 

“Yeah, same time?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

It was just like anything else Enjolras said. He actually fucking believed he meant it. 

“Good. ‘Night, Enjolras.”

“Goodnight, Grantaire.” 

Saturday, he thought.

\----

Except, Enjolras didn’t log in Saturday, and he didn’t answer any texts. Anyone Grantaire asked just said he was probably busy, which could mean _anything_ for Enjolras. He even tried calling, but to no avail. Grantaire distracted himself with local quests, waiting for him. He waited all evening, increasingly convinced that he was being ignored once and for all. The hope that he had given Grantaire the day before was starting to fail him.

Come Sunday, and Enjolras’ convenient absence started to make him second-guess every call, every text they every had. Busy was one thing, but Enjolras asked him to be there, said he’d _’like that’_ , and Grantaire wanted to believe him so, so much. But Enjolras came to his senses, obviously, and decided to cut Grantaire off because he realized that Grantaire had been playing more than one game with him.

Although Friday night had lifted Grantaire’s spirits, an amicable conclusion had been too much to hope for, or else Enjolras wouldn’t have stood him up on without warning. It was no big deal to flake on someone like Grantaire. 

Saturday 2:15 P.M.  
**<** we still doin this today?  
Yesterday 4:34 P.M.  
**<** hey u on? im home  
Yesterday 11:48 P.M.  
**<** umm ima go to sleep. nigjt  
Today 3:22 P.M.  
**<** hello? u ok?

It was pitiful, he knew, but he was a little hurt and didn’t really care who knew. 

Today 4:55 P.M.  
**<** a heads up wouldve been nice when u decided not to come...its only pvp yo. no big deal :/

Grantaire closed his phone before he could say too much. Seeing all the ‘unread’’s only made it worse, anyway. He wasn’t a priority, but he could, would, live with it. Enjolras wanted a healer, and now he had it, plain and simple. And if he wanted Grantaire out, he had only to say the word. Grantaire only hoped it would be sooner rather than later, or he might beg Enjolras to let him stay.

Monday morning came around, and Grantaire had all but accepted his fate as he went about his shift. He was sullen and rude with customers, but he had it worse than any of them, he thought. He had been given hope again, and then realized it would hurt him. One way or another, he’d have his time to sulk and be melodramatic over a simple, albeit ambiguous rejection. The universe owed him that much for his trouble. Yet, right near the end of his shift when the line was getting bad, Enjolras called him.

He knew right away from the ringtone, and gritted his teeth as he handled the line, unable to spare even a second to just *turn it off*. Even if he wanted to get it (not particularly, but also kind of a lot? He didn’t really know), he had no choice but to let it ring to voicemail. It was just too busy and it could wait for later. Enjolras had taken his good sweet time letting Grantaire wait, after all. 

Text notifications buzzed away in his back pocket. 

\----

Monday. Five minutes after the raid was supposed to start, and Grantaire still wasn’t picking up. Enjolras was getting truly desperate. He’d tried for _hours_ to get through, but nothing. Grantaire wasn’t responding to anyone else, either, but Enjolras knew it was his fault most of all, _fuck_. 

Saturday night, he had been all cozy in bed squabbling with Grantaire, now self-assured in the fact that Grantaire did, actually, want to spend time with him. Saying their goodnights, Enjolras felt coolly energized, but not so much that he wouldn’t sleep soundly. He felt wonderful. Only, once all was tired and comfortable, Enjolras realized he forgot an assignment. 

The essay. He forgot to finish the essay. He was scheduled to finish it Wednesday, but Wednesday was when Grantaire called him in the library and made him _wanting_ and he never ended up finishing the paper. It was due two hours ago online. 

Fully awake in all the worst ways, he bolted out of bed, breathing hard and cursing himself nonsensically. Ten minutes later saw him sprinting across campus towards the library, repeatedly blinded and lighted as he sped under the light cones of lampposts. 

When he got to the library and went over his calendar, he realized there were even more assignments he’d missed Thursday, when he was loopy all day, and Friday. Everything needed to be researched and outlined and drafted, and he was so, so behind. Then it was three days of thesis work to make up with mere weeks away from his oral defense and he couldn’t mess around, couldn’t risk slacking off _ever again_ , though he knew his ADD wouldn’t make that possible. Even so, he hadn’t neglected his assignments so badly since high school and there was no choice but to stay in his chair until every last one assignment was complete. He couldn’t trust himself not to lose focus, so he didn’t go home. 

He was working nonstop for two days, tucked in his corner of the 24-hour library. He crashed at the end of the last one from exhaustion. Combeferre and Cosette popped by the library a few times to check in, and Courfeyrac brought him coffee, and Joly asked about his health, but he shooed them all away as soon as they arrived. He _knew_ his ADD and he couldn’t break his concentration for a moment, for a second, for a single word of conversation before losing it all, losing himself. He shuddered and couldn’t breathe at the thought of losing that control again. Not until everything was done. He worked and worked and on Monday morning Combeferre was the one who found him collapsed at the library cubicle, surrounded by disposable lunches and cups he’d barely touched. It wasn’t until he was shouldered back to his own dorm and awoke in his bed five hours later that he realized he’d missed all the day’s classes, and that he’d also completely bailed on Grantaire. 

Today: 4:35 PM  
**<** Ferre I fucked up I fucked up so badly and he’s not picking up.  
**>** Welcome back to the living. Is it Grantaire?  
**<** Yeah I said I’d see him on Saturday but he won’t text me back or answer my calls. I promised him, Ferre, and now he’s ignoring me.  
Today: 4:37  
**>** Bahorel just said Grantaire hasn't talked to anyone since yesterday  
**<** I really think this is my fault, oh my god.  
**>** What happened?  
**<** I was an ass and ignored everyone for two days…I didn’t even warn him.  
**>** Well did you intend to ignore him?  
**<** No. Courfeyrac was right about me  
**>** Right about what?  
**<** You know what I mean Ferre don't make me say it.  
**>** Your're right, I do know. But you’re demonstrating my point. You need to talk about your feelings better, Enj. Be more forthcoming the next time you see him.  
**<** Now he’s ignoring me.   
**>** You've slept long enough that I'll let you join us for this. The raid starts in 30   
Oh, of course. Grantaire would log in for the raid and Combeferre could take over while Enjolras might just pull some serious diplomacy out of his ass. 

Except now Enjolras had logged in. Now he was at the raid. Now it was ten minutes after the raid was supposed to start, and Enjolras couldn’t stall any longer. Forlorn, Enjolras asked Feuilly to double as a backup healer again.

Only, he should’ve waited longer, because Grantaire finally logged in, twenty-five minutes after raid call. They were halfway through the first boss when his name showed up in guild chat. 

[Grandruff] has come online.

“Oh my god.” Enjolras breathed into the mic, not caring who heard. He let Jehan take over tanking the trash spawns. 

To [Grandruff]: Are you okay?  
[Guild] [Grandruff]: srry can someone summon me? accident downtown stopped the buses a while  
To [Grandruff]: I didn’t mean to hurt you.  
[Grandruff] whispers: u couldve read my texts at least

Enjolras jerked as if stung. He figured Grantaire was mad, but now he was ready to try and open up to him, ask him out, if possible. He couldn’t help shudder at the despair rooting into his gut like vines. 

[Grandruff] whispers: i get it though its cool. its not rlly a big deal it didnt go farther than pvp so im hoping things can just stay cool yknow. i wanted to tell u earlier 

Did he say despair? He meant the splintered remains of his heart, dashed against the walls of his chest and welling up in his throat.

To [Grandruff]: I’m sorry.  
[Grandruff] whispers: hey im a big boy i can take it. no worries

Enjolras wanted to protest, to kick and scream and ask _’but why can’t we fix it?!’ _He remained silent, spiraling down. He should’ve listened to Combeferre.__

____

____

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Appendix, for shits and giggles:  
> -Kael'thas: A figure in the lore of World of Warcraft. Kael'thas Sunstrider is the former lord of the race of blood elves. Also called the "Sun King", Kael'thas is a cult favorite for his #goals blonde hair, and his (ultimately destructive) pride and corruption. His comparison to Enjolras is ironic.  
> -Jehan says "our ηγέτης is beautiful but not that beautiful". I literally just asked google translate to give me the greek word for 'leader', so I hope it's not wrong?
> 
> More: http://wowwiki.wikia.com/wiki/Kael%27thas_Sunstrider


	5. CC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's lose all our shit folks, then maybe get shit back together again. Shit reconstruction. 
> 
> Warnings this chapter for more of the same angst, then references to Lamarque being in the hospital and having lung problems. He's comfy there I promise. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CC- "Crowd control"  
> 1\. (In game) Describing spells/skills which limit an opponent's ability to attack. e.g., paralyzation, daze, freezing trap.  
> 2\. (In vernacular) The process of handling a situation in which multiple people are affected.

Over the remainder of the weekend, Grantaire had analyzed his movements, and was convinced that some combination of the nicknames and messing with the guy’s downtime had resulted in the fatal error of making Enjolras supremely uncomfortable with the idea of being more than just friendly teammates. Game over. By the time he joined the raid on Monday, Grantaire was only looking for the best way out, ideally with no strings attached. He didn’t want to inconvenience everyone by bailing, but the last thing he wanted to do was give Enjolras any reason to fear him, if such a thing were possible.

Now, half a minute after confirming their non-relationship to Grantaire, things were going from bad to worse. Enjolras gasped sharply, and Grantaire winced on his behalf. It wasn’t pretty getting on Eponine’s bad side. 

To [Wolfdaughter]: is he ok?  
To [Wolfdaughter]: i still want him to like me after this as a friend u kno :(  
[Wolfdaughter] whispers: he doesn’t deserve you  
To [Wolfdaughter]: ep pls :(( its fine now he apologized rlly its fine now  
[Wolfdaughter] whispers: no you arent you masochist but have it ur way tho  
To [Wolfdaughter]: thats me

Another flurry of typing, and Enjolras yelped, oh shit. It was a mistake to ask Eponine for sympathy.

To [Wolfdaughter]: WHAT DID U DO?!?!!?!?!  
[Wolfdaughter] whispers: he’ll live dw about it  
To [Wolfdaughter]: UHGHGHGHUSJSJSSSDE i swear to goddddDDDD

Eponine left him alone after that, but the keyboard smashing went on and on, debating his fate in a conversation he himself wasn't privy to. Grantaire gave up on spamming Eponine and just listened in horror. Who was typing? Was it still Eponine and Enjolras, or were other people finding out? Even after Grantaire joined the rest of them at the raid entrance, no one dared to speak. Even if some people weren't weighing in, it wasn't that hard to read the situation with all the irritated grunts and keyboard claps.

Grantaire waited, wide eyes glued to the screen as if it were ice about to shatter below his feet. But nothing ever came. A while later, Enjolras' avatar hopped to its feet and sped off into the raid portal, disappearing. The message was clear: nothing to see here, return to business as usual. Grantaire was all too willing to agree, if only to delay the inevitable. He really did like raiding, even as a prelude to rejection. They cleared some trash mobs, downed a boss, and Grantaire could almost forget how much it would suck to leave. Almost, until Enjolras tried to get a word in edgeways. 

[Enjolras] whispers: Please can we talk? It’s important.  
To [Enjolras]: wtf no not now  
To [Enjolras]: way to add insult to injury

The "I didn't want to hurt you" had been bad enough, but now Enjolras wanted to ostracize him on his way out? Whatever. He just wanted to do his job with the time he had left, for pity’s sake. Enjolras only groaned at the response.

If Enjolras had picked any other time to tell him to fuck off, it would have been a little easier. _’So, Grantaire, could you please stop thinking I’m in your league, cheers thank you and goodbye’_ Grantaire was a big boy, he could take that much. Unfortunately, Enjolras' impeccable timing only made it impossible to ignore the nagging stress in Grantaire's head. The pressure made him clumsy, and he hadn't studied enough of the fights in the first place. He stood in vortexes a few times, and they wiped five times throughout the run before he got all the tricks. Enjolras was there the whole way to reprimand him, and Grantaire felt justified to get a little bitter about it. 

“Grantaire, you literally didn’t watch your feet,” Enjolras said, aloud. Grantaire simmered.

“Whatever,” he snapped.

[Enjolras] whispers: Please can we just stop for a second?

“Wait for _what_ , Enj? Go ahead, tell us all. We’re all listening.” 

The silence came back. Even the in-game music seemed to diminuendo for them, the whole place listening in. 

“I--I...no I’m…”

“What’s this about?” Combeferre finally started.

“No, I didn’t think so. Save your breath, chief. Don’t worry about it Combeferre.” Grantaire growled. Anyway, he was only doing Enjolras a favor by turning everyone against himself.

[Wolfdaughter] whispers: did he fuck it up?  
To [Wolfdaughter]: he fucked a lot of stuff up, kinda  
[Wolfdaughter] whispers: mkay

No word from Enjolras for the rest of the night. In fact, he had his mic muted. Grantaire checked. After the last drops got handed out, Grantaire was the first to leave the call and the first to log off. Time to lick his wounds, after all. He turned his phone off for good measure, too, and went to sleep. 

\-----

The next morning, he was in a rush. He’d overslept his usual 5-hour average and missed the bus, making him shell out extra cash so the taxi would take him to the drugstore _fast_. A grueling day lay before him at work. Customers argued and spat and generally made his faith in humanity even worse for wear, if such a thing were possible. Only on the bus home did he finally get the chance to think about the night before. 

Grantaire was willing to agree that he had been too hard on Enjolras, who, admittedly, had tried to save Grantaire’s dignity by talking over the PM instead of the voice channel. Still, Enjolras _was_ pretty ruthless calling him out on his slightest mistakes during the raid, so they were more or less even. The end result was the same: Grantaire got the message and would leave him left well alone. The only doubt in Grantaire’s mind was whether or not he could just leave the guild, or if he needed to delete the character entirely and go back to his old faction.

The answer was clear when he got home and retrieved his phone, abandoned as it was during his rush out the door that morning. Fifteen missed called from Enjolras. Three new voicemails from Enjolras. Two missed calls from Combeferre. Four missed calls from Eponine, and innumerable text messages on top of all that. He wanted to believe that something else had gone wrong, like someone’s pet died. He didn’t think anyone owned a pet? He’d have to ask later, if there would be a ‘later’ to ask. Probably not.

He decided not to make a fool of himself by trying to call back or respond, so he went straight to the voicemails, the three from Enjolras sitting at the top. One right after the raid, one at 4 A.M., _ouch_ , and one at 10 A.M. that day. As salty as he was, Grantaire couldn’t help the pang of concern that Enjolras hadn’t slept well. He even had a stupid wish to go back to last night, try to be a little more patient so that Enjolras wouldn’t remember him so poorly, but there was nowhere to go but forward.

Clicking on the message, his heart sank at once. “-ello? Hello? R, your voicemail memo is fuckin’ annoyin--,” Enjolras choked up, cutting off the end of the word. He coughed raw in his throat, then, “m’sorry, Im’so sorry. I missed so many deadlines that weekend and I was in a really fucked up place and Eponine wo--won’t tell me” his voice just seemed to get thicker and thicker, “whuh I did bu’ she said I fuc--” The line dropped, and damn, Grantaire could feel himself breaking a little too.

The other two voicemails started pretty much the same, except he’d stopped crying by the last one and just sounded so flat and cold and confused. And then there was something even more odd.

“I get it if you don’t wanna see me again. I never wanted to hurt you and I was so fucking nervous but I can get over you and maybe we could still be friends? Fuck, I don’t know, I don’t know...” 

Get over _you_ , he had said. Grantaire played it back again just to be sure. If he said get over _it_ , well, ‘it’ could mean Enjolras’ general grouchiness and stick-up-the-ass’ness, but _you_? 

Grantaire got an inkling that he had made another Potentially Very Bad Mistake, only so, so, much worse. He dialed a number. 

“Eponine, tell me what you told him last night. Every single fucking word, I swear to god.”

“You’re atheist, R. That’s the second time you’ve said that to me.” She sounded annoyed, but at least they were still O.K. enough to joke. 

“Don’t pretend you didn’t call me at--” he peeked at the screen, “at fucking midnight to give me hell. Tell me what you said to Enjolras, please?”

“Fine, fine... I told him to leave you alone because you had the hots for him, and you shouldn’t have had to deal with his shittery at the same time you were feeling bad about wanking off to him.”

“I did not--”

“Chill, dude. Anyway, I don’t know much either. He just started panicking after you left. Combeferre has to walk out to his apartment and help him out.” 

“I need to do something, bye.”

\-----

Enjolras knew he looked like a wreck, but Courfeyrac felt the need to remind him as much and reached out to ruffle his hair into new and exciting angles. They had sat down for...coffee? Yes, Enjolras remembered, looking down at the mug and back up again.

“ _Hey_ ,” Courfeyrac tried sweetly, but Enjolras shook his head and wrapped both hands around his coffee, letting his eyes close at its warmth. He lifted it up to smell it, hummed, but didn’t have the stomach. 

“I’m not going to break, you know.” He said, after some minutes passed and the coffee hadn’t left the table again.

“‘Dussin’t mean it isn’t a mess right now,” Courfeyrac sighed, knowing it would be no use to contradict him. Enjolras laughed once, barely a puff of air, but somehow it summed up all the heartache of the past twenty-four hours, of the past week. 

Throughout the day, so many of his friends had mothered over him about Grantaire this, Grantaire that, but he was altogether at a loss. Grantaire seemed to vanish off the face of the Earth after 11:46 P.M. on Thursday. Then there was Eponine, who witnessed the center of the whole thing but preferred not to comment either way, lest she made things worse. 

Still, he needed to talk about what happened with someone. Although he wasn’t sure if it was entirely appropriate, there was at least one person who came to mind. Enjolras told Courfeyrac he was heading home, already envisioning himself walking through the door, turning on the computer tower, and logging into Skype. 

Paula Lamarque was many years her brother’s senior, but she helped welcome Enjolras into the fold after he stormed away from his parents’ house in middle school, ending up on the Lamarque family doorstep and blubbering about the homeless man he watched his mother kick. She introduced him to Jean Lamarque so they could play badminton down the street until Enjolras’ parents came to pick him up. 

Jean Maximilien Lamarque really wasn’t that much older than Enjolras himself, his bachelor’s degree hadn’t even started to gather dust, but he always _seemed_ older by so many years, a proper statesman to Enjolras’ own anarchist. Lamarque got him into reading, years ago, when all Enjolras wanted to do was drown himself in the video games in a household that denied him an outlet for passion. In the end, Jean made it so that Enjolras got a balance of media. He aspired to be like him, and although they’d never needed to talk about relationship drama, he knew that Jean wouldn’t disappoint this time.

Lamarque went to a different place for college, so they’d kept tabs on each other over skype calls nonstop for the past four years. If he was in good condition, Jean might just pick up. 

Skype was ringing away for a while, but Enjolras was willing to be patient. When the line finally got through, it was Paula’s face rendered on the screen.

“Hi, Paula,” Enjolras managed with a smile. She frowned.

“Hey chap, want me to hand you over to him?”

“Please. Thank you, sorry for budding in.” 

“No worries.” 

The screen rustled around a bit, eventually settling on Jean himself, looking somewhere offscreen and waving before a closing door resounded. Jean looked back and smiled easily, propped up on the same hospital bed that Enjolras saw when he visited the month before. The oxygen tube was still there.

“I thought you were going to get that thing off?” Enjolras tutted. He knew he shouldn’t fuss, but after last night he needed to be the one _not_ worried after for a little while. Jean smiled, his eyes creasing warmly at the edges. 

“Yes, but then I went and started coughing again. Just another fluid problem, don’t mind me. Now, tell me about the guild, tell me everything. Combeferre checked in the other day, but he’s so busy...all I got was that we’ve found another healer. Exciting.” Enjolras ducked his head, half-flushing, half-grimacing. 

“Yes, he is, but…the guild still wants you back, yeah? I...I thought we might keep him around, but I dunno…” Here goes. 

“Go on.”

“It turns out...I had a very futile crush on him?” Enjolras looked away again before he could see him gawking. 

“Oooh dear, that’s a new one. Futile, huh? And ‘had’?” But Jean was beaming at him, and it was contagious, really. Everything about Lamarque seemed to compel people. Enjolras had to giggle, he couldn’t help it.

“ _Have_ ,” Enjolras groaned dramatically, muffing the words into the crook of his arm. “Yeah, it’s been wild. You wouldn’t believe half of it if I told you, he’s not exactly an obvious ‘type’ for me.” 

“I wouldn’t stand to believe that you like anyone for _no_ reason, platonic or otherwise. At the very least, the natural goodness of humanity is still a reason.” He had him pegged, there. 

“Here’s where I lose you,” Enjolras laughed, feeling light for the first time that day, “he doesn’t actually believe in any of that stuff.”

“Oh?”

“No, he’s just...infuriating, you, you know how it is? One minute, he’s throwing everything I believe into the trash with my dignity, and the next minute he’s so affectionate and funny and sincere. We actually have some things in common…”

“Well then, I hope it all works out.” 

Enjolras deflated, lips pulled tight over his chin again. “That’s just the thing, it really didn’t work out. It failed spectacularly, in fact. Everyone in the raid team heard it happen.” 

“Huh,” was all Jean had to say to that.

“What? No words of condolence?” 

“I don’t think you let go of someone in your life that easily. You hold onto people because you love all people. It’s a matter of principle to us. If you love this one in particular, then he’s going to have a hard time shaking you, and I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow inquisitively and tried to let that sink in. It _sounded_ right, but then again, everything Jean Lamarque said sounded right to him. 

And right then, Enjolras’ phone rang. 

“Go ahead and get that.” Jean prompted, smiling with his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No appendix this chapter, just fun things! When I'm not writing fic, (actually also when writing fic...) I listen to a lot of the soundtracks from the game itself, as well as fan parodies of popular songs, made nerdy by gamer lyrics. Cw on the song parodies playlist for swear words, and some melodramatic lyrics on one or two of the songs. Also on the fact that they're not *super* good singers or lyricists, but hey, my nostalgia. Anyway both of these playlists are major inspo. There's a lot more songs out there, I just made a lil selection for yall.  
> -[In-game music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z2XzwEDMKw8&index=11&list=PLh4V_dU3bYWF29bIf_dht2DibroNVUbqm)  
> -[Parody music videos](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLh4V_dU3bYWEh1OMGyJK-Z-B_Si5nQo1S)
> 
> Oh yeah, and I'm also on [tumblr](https://hysteia.tumblr.com/), but I'm not very active on it right now because b u s y. Special thanks to the comment last chapter for making me get a move on with the fic this week :P It's nice to know I'm not talking into the void.


	6. DC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I was busy with life changes (for the better!) This was originally going to be the last chapter, but it would be well over 10k, and I'm not done with some of the later sections.
> 
> And now, things...change.
> 
> Warning in this chapter for minor character death, which is offscreen. It is mentioned to be by illness. There is a section about the aftermath of that, but there is no detailed description of characters experiencing a depressive episode. I talk more in the endnotes about how I chose to write and represent this part of the story, if anyone is confused about why I chose to let go of Lamarque.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DC- "Disconnected"  
> 1\. As a verb, when someone's game or computer crashes, forcing the player to restart the game

Seeing Lamarque was always a definitively, positively good idea, now more than ever, but the damn ringtone managed to ruin it anyway.

“Yeah, yeah,” Enjolras sighed, inwardly cursing the caller with every conceivable blight. It was so easy to fall back in with Lamarque, to forget about the week and the guild and the raid. The last thing Enjolras had wanted was to break that spell. 

“Let me just…” He trailed off, scowling in the phone’s general direction. In his mind’s eye, he saw his own aggro meter breaking 200%. 

Enjolras thumbed emphatically for the little red 'x', determined to punish the hardware for its socially unacceptable timing. Seeing the number, though, made Enjolras hover mid-tap, hissing through his teeth like a valve sprung open, venting all his famous decisiveness. There was no right answer. Answer, and he would enter an unknown, vulnerable conversation. Deny it, and he would close the door on that conversation forever. Letting Grantaire ring to voicemail seemed like the only way not to implicate himself. A missed call--no more, no less.

After the ringing went on and Enjolras failed to pick up, Jean insisted.

“As long as you need.”

“It’s Grantaire,” Enjolras drawled, almost passing for aloof if not for the way his shoulders wound hitched tight.

There was no hesitation. “Pick it up.” 

Enjolras’ head jerked up, searching for some hidden meaning in his face, some way out, but Jean had made then decision for him. He’d lifted himself off the pillow and filled up the whole frame, holding Enjolras' gaze in a deadlock. 

The gears in his head were clicking, jamming, throbbing behind his eyebrows, and Enjolras had no choice but to not think at all. He picked up the phone. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you I was being an ass so please don’t hang up?” Enjolras didn’t even try to parse _that_ mess of a sentence. He suspected his own voicemails were worse anyway. 

“I’m listening...” 

“Really?” He sounded genuinely surprised, and Enjolras couldn’t help but bristle a little, scoffing. What did he expect? _Hey no I’m actually busy…_

He had half a mind to put it on speakerphone, just to keep Lamarque as a lifeline in case things got rough, but he decided against it. Somehow, he and Grantaire had started the mess, and it was up to them to fix it. Jean gave him a thumbs-up as he waived him goodbye with his eyes. Enjolras saw Lamarque's hand envelope the whole screen before the window collapsed, leaving Enjolras and Grantaire alone with each others' voices.

“Yes, _really_ , say whatever.” Enjolras snapped, his brow pinching sharply. 

“Oh, well, um...I wasn’t ignoring you earlier? I left my phone at home…”

“You should’ve saved yourself the trouble and asked someone else to send you excuses. It’s the same result, really.” Cruel, he knew, but not unprovoked. 

“Okay, you got me pegged, I’m a coward and an idiot and I’m _really fucking terrible_ at setting things straight with people like you because, I mean, hella bisexual over here. That’s part of the problem though because I totally let myself become one of those creepy guys online and you have so much shit going on...I figured you realized how much of a stalker I was and wanted me gone, or just wanted your healbot to stick around. Plus, you kind of ignored me too.” 

Enjolras heard without listening. Only the last remark carried through to him. “Wait, what? I wasn’t ignoring you, what the heck? Did you even listen to my voicemails-_? No, nevermind. In fact, don’t.” He ran his hand over his face, exacerbated and flustered. “Look, the past couple days I’ve had some overdue assignments, and current assignments and thesis work on top of that,” Even listing it all made his chest tighten again, his throat spasmed as he waited for the flare of anxiety to pass. “I couldn’t let anyone talk to me, or touch me, or I...I felt like I was going to lose control.” _Do not cry._

“...Okay.” There was the softness again, the quiet, gentle concern he used when he talked to Enjolras sometimes. Enjolras swallowed, and pulled one knee up to press close to his chest, humming softly for Grantaire to continue. “I didn’t know.” 

“I know. I’m sorry.” Enjolras hung his head. 

“I have some problems too.” Grantaire murmured, barely audible over the soft sigh against the mic. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, I just…” 

Enjolras shook himself. “Nevermind, you don’t have to explain yourself, I’m not entitled to it,” he pressed. Grantaire only snorted.

“Nah, I mean I literally don’t know. Never bother to get it checked out. Except for self-diagnosis, but it gets a little blurry after a few of those.” 

Enjolras gawked, scandalized. “What?! You could have serious health problems and you don’t get treatment? _No diagnosis?_  
You could qualify for compensation from your insurance, or accommodations, or--”

“You. Need. To relax,” an order, but a laughing one. Enjolras stilled himself anyway. “No, but seriously, you can take a break once in an epoch.”

“This is _me_ , though, I can’t help it,” Enjolras muttered, thinking back on the week.

“You know what? Don’t stress it. You say you couldn’t help it, and I believe you. Everyone’s fucked up in the head somehow. We’re even. Let’s go back to the part where I think I’m being a stalker and a predator and what the fuck was last night?” 

Enjolras jumped. “Wait, woah, what? What are you talking about?” Grantaire groaned emphatically on the other side of the line, silenced, and sighed.

“I liked you,” No confusion, there, but Enjolras held his breath as Grantaire steeled himself to elaborate, “...but we both know how this was supposed to turn out, right? I think straight people must’ve come up with it, it’s awful. Guy meets someone in the game, gets really horny, makes ‘friends’ and manipulates them into sending nudes or sexts or whatever. Either the girl rejects him like the scum he is or, like...things get bad. Only straight people can come up with this, I swear--” 

“What the fuck are you talking about? That has got to be the most toxic thing I’ve heard you say, do you _realize_ how much a problem it is when young people aren’t taught how to say ‘no’ and end up in those situations? Plus, it just doesn’t happen to little white cis girls when--”

“Oh my _god_ , stop. I _know_ , it’s a _stereotype_ , and that’s not the point, Enjolras! I’m saying that I _know_ how fucked up that sounds, and I was fucking terrified that I was _perpetuating_ it with you because I _really fucking like you_ and we met on a goddamn MMORPG! That’s part of the culture and everyone knows it!”

“I was fine! How could you assume to know where I stand before I said anything?!”

“That’s _it_ , Enjolras, you _didn’t_ say anything. We never talked about it, you just kinda danced around me and graced me with your presence sometimes because I’m supposed to become a team player. But, feelings? That’s not part of the equation, that’s not what anyone signs up for and that’s where drama starts. I was trying to _avoid_ that by the way, by, you know, doing my fucking job and shutting up, but that’s not a fix. Sure, we’re both adults here, but I fucked up and let myself get too close. I had no fucking clue if I was freaking you out, or if you only tolerated me for me heals, or whatever. I can take being played with, but I’m not a fucking sadist, Enjolras. Surely, you don’t need _me_ to explain human decency.” 

Enjolras was at a loss. What was he if not a proponent of healthy relationships? But Grantaire was right, he hadn’t been clear about it. 

“It’s not like you asked me to do anything serious, I don’t know, sexual…It was hardly anything, really, just talking and hanging out, I dunno...” Enjolras whined, feeling like he was on the losing end of Grantaire’s reasoning, and deservedly so. 

“How could I know your boundaries? How could you know _mine_? The only way to be sure where we stand is to be as blunt as possible. Right now, the blunt version is that we liked each other, but we screwed up. And, uh, just to be clear, affirmative on the part about you liking me? Uh, still?” 

“Yeah…”

“Then can we start over and state our intentions like people who support the pursuit of healthy relationships?” 

Enjolras asked for patience, for a minute to calm the fuck down and compose himself. Then, he spilled. He explained how confusing it was to have a crush, after being disillusioned from dating for so long. He conjured the memory of his high school self, who had just started trading in his sweatclothes for T-shirts and jeans, who had been out of the closet for a few years but needed to _move_ out in order to explore his sexuality in peace. Even then, being on his own in a new city make it obvious that people liked him not on account of, but despite his doctrine. 

“What’s the point if people see my body first. They think ‘oh, that’s nice,’ but then they get to know me and they can only stand so much before I’m too...something. They leave when they find out that my work is my priority, and that is my line in the sand. I already know what I want to do with my life and they can either join me or leave me.”

“Do you feel like you’ll ever have time for someone?” A fair question, one that Enjolras often asked himself, usually to a grim conclusion. This time, a silent ‘-for me?’ was involved. 

Enjolras thought about his week, how simple forgetfulness landed him with his nerves against the grindstone. He thought about how he got himself there, and how he raced against time just to clear that one gauntlet. How he came out and found that he’d dragged Grantaire through the mud along the way, and all for the sake of work. Endless, gruelling, arguably thankless _work_. Once again, Enjolras decided that he’d never have _enough_ time— not enough to devote himself to someone special. Work would keep whipping him faster again and again until he tripped and fell on his face, but it didn’t matter. He loved that life too much to slow down. Work cumulated into the undeniable proof that none of him was ever wasted. 

“I chose this for myself a long time ago. I’m never gonna stop going, _going_ , and I love it. I wouldn’t trade the stress or the burn for anything else. There’s no way for me to go but forward. I need to live as much as this...this _body_ can take it.” His body, so different from the body he assumed in the game. He envied that body’s ability to waste itself and respawn over and over again, losing nothing. 

“I see.” Grantaire went cold again, openly hurt. 

“Wait, fuck, let me rephrase. So I chose this, but I’m not really living for myself, yeah? To me, life is all the other people I work for, all the relationships between them...Fuck, all I want is to do is love humanity as best I can and give as much as I take out by just existing. And you...with you it’s like that passion is being reciprocated for once, _because_ of who I am.” Enjolras smiled to remember certain conversations, certain arguments, “And hell, when you said I was cute, what could you know? You’d never seen what I looked like, you sure as hell didn’t agree with my doctrine, but you wanted me to talk about it anyway, and even _then_ thought that cute was someone the acceptable adjective, I don’t know. I guess it made me take the compliment at face-value? I’ve never been able to do that before. I didn’t think someone could just care about me in the way I care about everything else. Fuck, I’m not making sense...”

“No, no I get it now. I mean—”

Grantaire didn’t hold back either. He explained his history a little more, trying to contextualize his gratitude for the raid slot, as well as the fear of losing his inhibitions around Enjolras, a fear aggravated by losing countless online friends as people quit the game and disappeared into real life. Enjolras understood that he didn’t want to find someone, only to watch it all go to waste in a year’s time.

“--but you’re so fucking real, man, like, I can’t block you out. You can care so fucking much. It makes me wanna care about you, like...I can’t find the words…”

“Take your time.”

“Like, who’s gonna look out for our heroes if not the people who could never be heroes themselves? What else can I _do_ , really?” Enjolras could think of several things, but thought it best to play along. 

“I can’t be _that_ extraordinary, I mean, there’s plenty of people who--”

“--Sorry, but don’t. You’re brilliant. You don’t just pick up friends and disappear on them. You’ve got a whole guild a people that you won’t let go of, even though that’s the easiest thing to do. Fuck, the fact that you’re here talking to _me_ is unbelieveable.” 

“Did...did people really do that? Suspend their accounts without telling you?”

“Fuck, you don’t know what it’s like on this fucking game. It’s not the best community to begin with, for one, but when it really works, and you really have it going with someone...and then one day you just never hear from them again? It’s so fucking easy for people to disappear. It sucks because, like, at least half of my life is online, y’know? I don’t have some fucking skilled career with good connections. This is what I’ve got, this is what I look forward to, even when it sucks. I don’t wanna have to replace anyone ever again. The way you talked about the others, I knew you wouldn’t do that. I was screwed.”

It was hard, it was messy, there were tears, but by the end of it, everything that could possibly be misinterpreted was laid out plain to see, and accepted. Then, there was the damage control. 

“Why did you freak out last night, anyway?” Oh right, Enjolras never got Eponine to tell him. It was fine, then. Grantaire could laugh, and he did.

“ _That_ was when I thought you were going to tell me to get lost for being the creepy stalker-thing. Your message wasn’t really that forthcoming. Oh, and your general grumpiness. At me, specifically. Kinda added insult to injury.”

“Ugh, I wanted to make up and ask you out, actually. Combeferre thought I should just tell you my feelings. Not soon enough, I guess. Oh, and that was my nerves, me picking on you.” Enjolras applied face to palm, feeling foolish. “So what now?” Both a serious question and a distraction from Enjolras’ follies. 

Grantaire made a cooing sort of sound at the suggestion. “I’m glad you asked. If I may go ahead and presume, _now_ we do what was supposed to happen. Go ahead, ask me out.” 

“I mean it’s not really necessary, we just, you know...” Enjolras flushed. 

“Oh, we are _not_ denying me this opportunity, turn on your video.” Grantaire piped, cheeky.

“You’re teasing me.” Enjolras pouted, already thumbing for the video button on his phone. 

“Sorry, you like it. No can do, ah, there you are…Go, go on.” And there was Grantaire’s smiling face, looking into Enjolras’ own mortified (thrilled) one. He cleared his throat.

“Uhm, Grantaire, uh...do you want to go with me to the San Diego Comic-Con?” Now, Enjolras was the one treated to a reaction, and oh, he could get used to that. 

“ _What_?” Grantaire gawked at him, eyebrows and wide eyes and everything. Enjolras pushed some hair behind his ear and beamed. 

“I got a ticket a while ago. I was going to go myself, but...they seriously mixed up the purchase and gave me a second one so I wouldn’t sue.” He looked away, blushing the small embarrassment. It was a hefty gift, those tickets, even if he got a bargain deal, and he hoped it wasn’t too forward. 

“God, that is so _you_ , and what, you’re asking me if I would like to go? Is that even a question? Oh my god, _Enjolras_.” 

“Hey, you prompted me!” Enjolras flushed more, glad that his reaction wouldn’t show on camera. Then, more tenderly, “Can you make it?” They never really got around to the “where do you live exactly?” stuff. It could be a big trip for both of them. Enjolras used his puppy eyes for good measure, hoping. Grantaire sputtered when he batted his lashes, and he made a mental note to use it in the future.

“Yes! Yes...well, I don’t know how much I can pitch in for it.” Grantaire scowled into space, supremely unflattering and entirely unacceptable, Enjolras thought. He smiled wickedly. 

“‘’M using my parents’ money for the hotel, actually. They don’t know, but hey, they’d just use it on something ghastly. Oh come on, I do it all the time, don’t look at me like that.” Enjolras giggled as Grantaire sighed and put his face in his hands, shaking his head like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming. Enjolras was feeling for once that nothing could go wrong with them at that point.

Technically, everything happened wonderfully between them. The day after _that_ call, they logged into the game together and flew off to a high-level zone to grind daily quests. And when they ran out of things to do, they made it official to everyone over guild chat. Grantaire wasn’t sure about it, both because it looked dubious for them to go from shitstorm to sunshine in a day’s time, and also because Eponine would give Enjolras hell on Earth. On both accounts, Grantaire was correct, but it was decided that they couldn’t keep it a secret with the whole guild holding its breath for a resolution. When all was said and done, the attention even felt a little indulgent. The feeling was unfamiliar to Enjolras, but he welcomed it as a solace as school drained the rest of his time for self-care.

Since the guild’s fate had been secured, Enjolras could push himself even harder and longer without cracking, and he exploited that tiny advantage to the fullest. But even when Enjolras disappeared into the classes, or the books, or the meetings, or microsoft word, Grantaire was there facetiming him once or twice a day, during breaks. After all, it only took a few moments to force a smile, or get a smile, or say “boyfriend” out loud for the first time. He didn’t have the heart to tell Grantaire that even then, every impulse told him that he was slacking off, losing focus. All the while, Grantaire was an angel of patience, saying Enjolras could take as much time as he needed, whatever it would take to finish this or that project.

And Grantaire did help him finish a few things, namely his thesis and the oral defense. Walking into the hall for his presentation, Enjolras was still replaying in his mind the practice orations which Lamarque and Grantaire dissected ruthlessly in the previous days. He thought back to their critique as he went through his points, and finally left the lecture hall in a triumph. That evening, Grantaire sent him a congratulatory meme card via MS paint.

There were other moments which stood out over the weeks. Hand-holding and kisses were impossible, of course, but the game offered its own sense of closeness when they had time to spend online. PvP, of course, but also achievement-hunting and grinding for special items. Once the topic had its chance to surface, they shamelessly debated the game lore over guild chat. There was no reason to believe it was anything less than a relationship. 

So as the relationship went on, and Enjolras finally graduated, and the guild could get back to work. Enjolras dedicated himself to the progression with fervor. Second only to his summer job at an analytics firm in the city, raiding was the capital priority. He accepted Combeferre's offering of a spare bed while he prepared to move the following year. In the corner of Combeferre's tiny kitchen (there was no other power outlet), Enjolras led the charge on three nights per week, then four. His voice echoed against the tiles, but he was clear, and he was precise. Grantaire geared up swiftly, and one Monday night, Enjolras proudly announced that he was switching the raid over to heroic difficulty. By his estimation, it wouldn’t take more than a few months to completely distribute all the rare drops, accounting for a new raid in the Fall. Then there were world bosses, then splinter faction rewards...

July receded in a flurry of pixels, and in June things started to go wrong. Lamarque’s condition worsened. Enjolras told the guild to prepare for the worst, and everything stopped moving for a week. As much as he needed to visit, Enjolras didn’t get vacation days as an intern. Combeferre and Paula were there, but that didn’t make it much easy to hear that he’d passed.

Under different circumstances, he would look at all of Lamarque’s unfinished work and say that the universe wasn’t justified to let a young man so great pass without seeing the fruits of his labor. Enjolras would riot. In hordes, if he could help it. Alone, if necessary. Yet, what Lamarque had said moved him more.

_“I don’t think you let go of someone in your life that easily. You hold onto people because you love all people. It’s a matter of principle to us.”_

He had been talking about Grantaire, of course, but the same applied. If anything, Jean wouldn’t see his own death as the end of justice waiting to be realized. He would see it as nothing more than a blip in the ever-beating march of progress. Through the pain, Enjolras relented to that reality, and spent his free moments locked away in the recesses of Combeferre’s apartment. He couldn’t lead the guild with fragments of his will, and prefers to bear the weight alone than confer the burden onto everyone else. Not only did the guild depend on it, but he had to move on in order to honor Jean’s wishes. Therefore, he spoke only to Grantaire and Lamarque’s sister, but mostly the latter. As much as he knew he and Grantaire would grow to love each other (and he _knew_ , although it remained unspoken), it was no replacement for the last connection he had to Jean Lamarque. 

Combeferre let him be, and ran the raids on his behalf while Enjolras and Paula began to understand. One Friday, Paula ordered him to pack some things and spend his three-day weekend with her. He obliged, although he was still sick with fury and helplessness. Over the weekend, they made arrangements for Jean’s funeral in August--where to go, who to bring, and for how long. Besides the fact of its necessity, the planning proved to be cathartic. It placed a date and means of earning closure.

“--so then you can invite some of the guild, or really whomever, I trust you. I’ll start sending emails to his former colleagues this week.” Paula spoke quickly, stumbling over ‘former’ as one who reads aloud and comes to a word they have never seen before. 

“Thank you.” Enjolras said for the upteenth time, both for her resilience and sisterhood. With her, he could understand what he needed, and she contra.

By the time he left on Monday night, Enjolras started to feel more like himself again. Life felt less clinical, less isolated, and he grasped for those little hopes like desperate mouthfuls of fresh air The world’s future would still always be greater than himself, Paula Lamarque, or her late brother, but his duty remained in the hands of the people, the maker of real, tangible futures. He could not bring himself to neglect that charge for much longer. Once he was able to put this into words, Grantaire listened to it over the phone as Enjolras drove back to his city. The highway was empty; it felt more private. He could imagine Grantaire’s phoenix sailing overhead, keeping pace and trailing sunnied ribbons across the night sky as it went. 

“June is almost over,” Enjolras broke a comfortable silence.

“Huh?” 

“I don’t know, I just think I’m doing a lot better now. Its been a wild few weeks.”

Grantaire puffed a single laugh into the microphone. “Welcome to my life.”

“ _Our_ life,” Enjolras soothed. 

“You’re adorable, man. Fuck, I can’t wait to see you next month,” for the convention. 

“You’d _better_ see me _this week_ for heroic Heart of Fear. I’m taking over from Combeferre again, and I don’t see you signed up yet.” Enjolras tutted, with as much energy as to be encouraging. 

“Really!? Fuck, we need you, we get nothing done without you. Do you really think we’ll be able to compete against the server this season?”

“I’m sure of it, thanks to you, babe. I still don’t know how you’re so good after doing nothing but _PvP_ for a year. Forget the lore, that’s the biggest plot twist of the expansion.” Enjolras felt his cheeks warm. “Sorry, that was bad.”

“Charming, you mean. And I had a great deal of _incentive_ , boss.” Enjolras scoffed, happy to find himself amused.

June rose and fell into July, and late July saw Enjolras yanking a small, squeaky luggage off the jet bridge, through the airport throng, all the way to baggage claim. He didn’t have to look long, from there.

There was Grantaire. Typical, cheeky, silver-tongued _Grantaire_ got a sign, and a white button-down, just like one of those spiffy butlers. Was that a fake monocle? Enjolras had to take off his reading glasses and squint as he ran towards him.

“Are you Sir Enjolras, Holy Paladin of the Shining Kingdom, the City of Stormwind?”

“Oh, fuck. You.” Enjolras breathed as they crashed together, abandoning his luggage and throwing his arms around Grantaire before he stumbled too far. The sign was discarded. 

Grantaire was good at hugs, Enjolras first realized. He was just short enough to have good shoulders for arm-propping, while still being within range of nuzzling. Enjolras slumped into him, sighing as he felt and smelled his boyfriend for the first time. The tense, pendulous air seemed to loosen its hold on Enjolras’ skull, on Enjolras’ lungs. He let out a secret breath that he’d been guarding for months, perhaps years.

“Hey creampuff,” Grantaire whispered up to his ear, startling him. “Can I kiss you?” 

He nodded, “My’ah”. 

Grantaire extricated himself from the circle of his arms, and clasped their hands together as if to warm them. Without opening his eyes, Enjolras felt one of those hands slide up the length of his arm, to the nape of his neck and rubbing circles there. All it took was a light press to guide their lips together, a rapture and promise sealed, then broken. There were no words as Grantaire reached for Enjolras’ luggage in one hand, and squeezed their fingers in the other. Enjolras finally looked and saw Grantaire half-turned, smiling excellently. They moved in tandem, one course and one destination.

When they got into the taxi, Enjolras forced himself to refocus and update the guild. Grantaire had already checked into the hotel before coming to meet him, so Grantaire informed the cab driver while Enjolras logged into the mobile guild chat.

[Guild] [Wolfdaughter]: weba  
[Guild] [Callcosette]: Hiya!!  
[Guild] [Enjolras]: Yes, any news?  
[Guild] [Allisferre]: All’s well  
[Guild] [Merryus]: is anyone cosplaying as sylvanas?  
[Guild] [Enjolras]: We don’t go to the convention until tomorrow morning, but I’ll let you know.  
[Guild] [Wolfdaughter]: make sure to take couples pics for bahorel. he wants to post you guys on instagram  


“What exactly does Bahorel do with Instagram?” Enjolras said suddenly, wholly oblivious of breaking an awkward silence. 

“He does some promotional stuff for his fitness thing, some guild news, workout stuff, girlfriend, uh, that’s it.”

“Why would anyone want to know about the guild? Is there some niche market of fitness gurus that are also nerds?”

“Nah, it’s a hipster sex appeal thing.” 

Still more confused, rather by choice, Enjolras returned to the guild chat.

[Courfayyy] has come online. [Guild] [Enjolras]: Maybe, if we have time.  
[Guild] [Courfayyy]: OOOO pls tell me is R is a catfish and what base are u @  
[Guild] [Enjolras]: He is exactly who he says he is. If we’re using Arathi Basin as a metric for bases, then I’m confident that we’ll capture the gold mine.  


Blushing profusely, Enjolras switched off the screen before Courfeyrac could embolden him into more mortifying euphemisms. As an afterthought, he side-eyed Grantaire for any signs of snooping, and blushed harder to meet his gaze. He wasn’t smirking, though, barely smiling as much as concentrating. Enjolras looked away only a moment, before offering his hand in reply. It was accepted.

_Soon_

 

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter appendix:  
> -aggro meter: This refers to the "aggro" of an enemy monster, or how much the monster wants to attack you. 200% is a very high aggro  
> -Heart of Fear: One of the raids which was in progression at the time which this fic takes place  
> -Holy Paladin: Those who know World of Warcraft will know that Enjolras is a Protection Paladin, since he's a tank. Holy is used figuratively in this sense, or ironically, whatever floats your teleporting boat.  
> -Sylvanas: Leader of one playable race in World of Warcraft, the Forsaken, also known as the Undead. Marius might be interested in cosplayers of her because she is a sex symbol among the fanbase in addition to being a powerful banshee queen.  
> -Arathi Basin: A battleground in which players of opposite factions fight each other for control of five bases. The Gold Mine is one of these capture points, and is a euphemism in Enjolras' usage. 
> 
> On Lamarque:  
> I hope no one's frustrated with me for just throwing in a character death. I didn't decide on it lightly. Let me paraphrase the huge paragraph I originally had here: I wanted to get into Enjolras' head a little more, and this was a sort of thought experiment for me. I felt like his character needed a complete arc that I could build upon, and I parodied the events of the book in order to check my the character against the adaptation I've envisioned. I've skimmed over the bulk of the event itself because I don't want people to be made needlessly upset by my own character analysis. 
> 
> PS: Also, sorry about the abrupt ending, this last 10k+ I've been working on just goesss and goeess and goooesss
> 
> PPS: there are now 69 uses of "fuck" thus far in your reading ^.^
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](https://hysteia.tumblr.com/)  
> [music from world of warcraft...aka soundtrack for my life...ima nerd](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLh4V_dU3bYWF29bIf_dht2DibroNVUbqm)


	7. GG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey-heyyy, why don't I finally post the last chapter after constantly rewriting it for four months? What's up my lads??? Have like a bunch of kinky stuff that may or may not be a little dramatized
> 
> Warnings in this chapter for sex. Sex that is pretty dom/sub and etc etc. There’s some light name-calling/humiliation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GG- "Good game"  
> 1\. A polite farewell to one's teammates after completing a battleground or raid  
> 2\. Used as an exclamation, conveying respect and pride at one's own achievement, or on behalf of someone else

_He’s hot as fuck,_ Grantaire’s mind supplied, never ceasing to state the redundant. It was more than that, though. In reality, Enjolras was wearing Combeferre’s sweatpants, a gym shirt, red heelies, and that bun was probably hiding some seriously greasy hair. (In the words of Eponine, Grantaire wasn’t allowed tease since he was a “socks with sandals guy, trademark”. True, of course, but surely a far cry from heelies.) He wasn’t even looking at Grantaire, his attentions overwhelmed between the guild chat and flashy distractions in the car window. But it was no use--Enjolras was fundamentally beautiful, and time and space could go to hell before interrupting that constant of the universe. 

As much as he wanted to ravish him right there in the airport, Grantaire knew that the motel was thirty minutes away, tops. Having been there himself to drop off his things, Grantaire could visualize the passage of time between leaving the airport and applying themselves to a mattress. Alas and alack, it was excruciating to have Enjolras next to him, a 3D render of everything he was, and endure those thirty minutes. The splendid flutter in his chest was nothing new, nor was anything different about Enjolras’ mannerisms from what Grantaire had seen on video calls. He tried to find some novel affection for the Enjolras before him, some new brilliance that was said to be impossible for digital lovers. Still, looking over that profile, Grantaire couldn’t help but feel perfectly familiar with it. The only difference was that they finally, finally had a whole weekend to themselves.

Enjolras asked some questions about Bahorel, Grantaire answered candidly, and Enjolras kept blitzing away on the guild chat. He balked at his phone at one point, his ears swiveling back at a sharp angle. Grantaire smiled, remembering an embarrassed, blustering Enjolras explain how he learned the weird gimmick to impress boys in middle school, and was so determined in it that it became involuntary. Enjolras glanced at him with wide eyes and pulled the phone closer to his lap. Grantaire only raised an eyebrow.

Enjolras recovered quickly and laid his hand on the middle seat only a little hesitation. When Grantaire laced his hand in tandem, he found it warm between their fingers. 

Looking at their hands, other memories flooded back to Grantaire. Perhaps it was the weight of the silence between them, pressurizing all the wants and anticipations. He remembered telling Enjolras to lace his own hands behind his back and spread his legs, showing off whatever toy or outfit he’d been preparing for the camera, or simply to comment on how hard he was getting, making his cock twitch as he waited to be allowed to touch himself again. Enjolras was the one to introduce things at first, expressing various degrees of sexual deviancy and armed with the vocabulary to describe them. However, Grantaire wasn’t shy about putting his own fantasies forth for discussion or making Enjolras aware of his particular _performative talents_. 

It was always delightfully choreographed between the two of them, delegating as much rapture as time and resources allowed. The promise of sharing the same bed expanded those resources considerably. There was much to look forward to in their final plans for the night ahead and Grantaire greedily set his eyes on the drawstring bag that Enjolras carried on his back the whole way. He caught Enjolras eyes again, wanting to ask, “did it distract you, did it rile you up?”, but not wanting to pierce the delicious silence. It didn’t matter. Enjolras gulped, his eyes half-lidded and piercing in a look Grantaire knew to mean _yesyesyes_. 

All that in mind, Grantaire’s free hand was plucking at the open-door latch by the time they were pulling into the motel lot. Their hands broke, but each in such a singular focus that it couldn’t be regretted. Grantaire, who had his wallet ready, listlessly shilled out double the fare and broke free of the confines of the car as if from a bubble. It was urgent, urgent, and Enjolras was ready at his heels. 

“You’ve check in?” Enjolras asked, in such a changed voice as from before that Grantaire shuddered. 

“Yes,” He promised, producing a key card from his back pocket and letting Enjolras run with it. Meanwhile, Grantaire picked up a “Do Not Disturb” card from the front office and couldn’t help but beam at the attendant who clearly required no explanation. 

Grantaire heard a flurry of muffled stomping when he knocked on the door, and Enjolras opened it only a little to stick his head out. 

“Username and password?” 

“You’re not getting my account,” Grantaire deadpanned. Enjolras grinned, undeterred.

“Not even if suck you off?” He cooed, a smooth transitioning to their scheduled programming.

“Fuck…”

“I’ve been practicing…” Enjolras suggested, drumming his fingers against the door and pulling it open a hair. 

Grantaire could just picture him, alone and bored in Combeferre’s spare room, trying his darndest to fuck his mouth that much deeper with whatever toy. 

“Let me in, _please_.” Grantaire pleaded, crowding towards the doorway and settling close to Enjolras’ face. The bastard blew a raspberry onto his hair, but flung the door full open before Grantaire could complain the injustice.

Grantaire was too turned on for words, and that world narrowed down to kissing Enjolras, _kissing_ Enjolras, getting Enjolras’ back to the door and pressing a thigh between his legs, where he wasn’t hard but getting there fast. Enjolras had learned to take silence with pleasure, but his brow was getting feverish to the touch and his breath fluttered high in his chest. When Grantaire tugged a curl behind his ear, Enjolras’ leg flung out and hooked Grantaire closer by the backs of his thighs. Closer was better, closer was _more_ , because Grantaire could feel the tiny thrusts that became ripples up Enjolras’ body. He met him in tandem, and realized that Enjolras really did practice for it.

“...you...you…” Grantaire breathed between kisses, wandering from Enjolras’ mouth to tease the soft niches of his jaw. 

“Me? _You._ ” Enjolras panted, twitching as Grantaire laved over the sweet spots down his neck. His fingers clutched the back of Grantaire’s shirt now, arms flexed and steady.

“Too much?...Anything ‘m forgetting?” He soothed, reaching up to massage Enjolras’ scalp lightly. His mouth fell a little open at the sensation. Their hips squirmed together.

“Real good, like, _fuck_ , good.” He huffed a laugh at his own ineloquence, and Grantaire couldn’t help a smile with him. Then, “I mean, take your shirt off already, it’s absurd.”

Grantaire relented, gingerly stepping out Enjolras’ many clutches and letting his head drop against the wall with a soft _thunk_. It didn’t stay there long, however, once the rustle of clothing was heard and it became necessary for Enjolras to watch.

Grantaire met Enjolras’ lazy gaze with a feral one, drawing the bottom hem just shy of his nipples before shucking it all off in one fluid motion. He tutted to see Enjolras’ hands clenched at his sides.

“You too, shirt off, then touch yourself,” He coaxed, digging one hand under his own tight waistband (Bahorel, earlier that week: “The tighter the better. Don’t you want to look punk?” Grantaire: “Well, _yes_...”). Enjolras followed the motion, mesmerized, his neck corded sweetly even as his hands flew to comply, surfing the top of his waistband as Grantaire had done.

“Show me, Enjolras,” Grantaire repeated, a note darker, making Enjolras shudder and look up. It was too stifling, the way Enjolras stared and squirmed and _wanted_. Grantaire had to unzip his fly, and couldn’t help a sigh of relief as he did so. This seemed to encourage Enjolras immensely, who could not stand to tease, and tugged at his clothes with vigor. He stepped off the wall as he went and fell hard on his knees before Grantaire as soon as his boxers were done away with. Even from below, Enjolras leaned back on his haunches to look him straight in the face. 

“Lube. Condom. Wanna blow you--” 

“ _Yes_ , yes, stay there, hold on,” Grantaire wheezed, swatting away the hands that tried to peel his briefs away. It took an agonizing half-minute of sifting through his overturned luggage, but Grantaire held up his loot in victory and rushed to the bed. Enjolras had gone ahead with spit, lying prone and teasing his cock half-hard. He rolled his hips languidly when Grantaire sat on the edge beside him, his desperation somewhat cooled. Grantaire could not be so composed. 

“Here,” Grantaire said, voice thick with implication. Instead of reclining on the bed, as Grantaire expected him to do, Enjolras took the condom and bottle and slid off the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of Grantaire as before. 

“Are you sure? It’s more comfortable up here,” Grantaire advised, knowing full well what Enjolras probably intended. 

He humored him anyway, “I want to you take my mouth. I can’t handle it all at once yet; I’ll let you know where to stop. Just--you know…”

“I know,” Grantaire smirked, letting his eyes roam, “You want me to make you beg to come, because that’s what’s been making you _itch_ ever since you packed up all those delicious toys you said you’d bring, the ones you want me to use when I fuck you into the mattress. Am I wrong?” 

Grantaire had been leaning slightly, and blew the last words right over the shell of Enjolras’ ear. Enjolras knew not to move, now that he was getting what he wanted. Now he would have to ask for permission. Grant aure, meanwhile, knew everything that was in that particular bag, how and when to use each one, because all had been decided before and on equal terms. Enjolras wanted his safeword as his only leverage in the moment, and trusted Grantaire with the rest. Grantaire heard him gulp before he responded.

“You’re not wrong. I want it.”

“Tell me again, I want to hear it for myself.” Grantaire goaded, pulling back entirely to watch arousal slowly overcome him. 

“I...I _want_ to suck your cock, and you to tie me up, and you to finger me, and vibe me, and fuck me…” Enjolras shut up to help Grantaire pull his jeans and briefs down and off, throwing them into the abyss over his shoulder. Enjolras looked over him with hunger. 

“And how do you want to come?”

“When you’re fucking me, please, Grantaire--”

Grantaire rubbed circles on his cheek with a dry thumb while he caught his bearings, and planted a kiss between his eyes even after he was assured. 

“Go on, then, suck me off,” Grantaire managed with some force, despite being helplessly charmed. Not that he wasn’t one-hundred percent on board with kinky sex with Enjolras (he was), but it was enough to leave him in awe.

Enjolras looked like he was revved to start straightaway, but held off long enough to roll the condom out and spread some lube--water-based--over the shaft. Then, _then_ Enjolras’ mouth was on him, slipping down until his forehead was wrought with lines of effort, and his breath came stifled through his nose. He steadied, adjusting there, and finally looked up at Grantaire as he slid back up to lick around the head. Where his lips had been, Enjolras circled his fist to mark his range of comfort, and gave Grantaire the go-ahead to move. 

Using Enjolras’ hair as an anchor, Grantaire pulled him back in, just shy of his fist and back up. He was tentative for a time, worried that Enjolras would lose grip and take in too much, but such never happened, and Enjolras tempted him on with deliberate little hums and probes of his tongue. Grantaire felt his pulse gallop at the sight of those lips stretched around him, those eyes screwed shut or glancing up at him. Grantaire had been very well hard before all of these, but as the pace sped into a fever pitch, Grantaire felt invisible strings tighten around his groin, and it took a great deal of self-control to ease Enjolras off of him gradually. Enjolras whined around his cock when Grantaire urged him to fully let go, but remembered his place when Grantaire tweaked a nipple as a warning. He broke off panting. 

“That was good, but you should have listened the first time. I decide when I come, I decide when _you_ come, and now I think I’m going to take my time with that…” In reality, he _did_ need to brace himself before rolling the condom off. Enjolras saw him wince and kindly broke character to fetch him a new foil. Grantaire caught his hand as it passed to him, squeezing for a moment and smiling to see Enjolras smile. 

“Captain to heals, can I come back up there now?” He quipped, unsure whether to kneel again and showing his nerves.

“I never tried to stop you. Ropes now, right?” Enjolras only nodded, making Grantaire frown. “Anything you wanna change?” 

“Yeah…” Enjolras cracked his wrists hurriedly, watching the movement of it. The pause was full before, “I think just my arms.” He flapped his elbows in demonstration.

“We don’t have to do anything, honestly,” Grantaire pressed, as quickly as possible because now was _not_ the time to sound remotely disappointed. Enjolras jerked his head up, peered, but his mood was unreadable when he was silent, so Grantaire smiled weakly and prepared himself for anything.

“No,” He started, then more confidently, “No, I want to. Let’s just do arms. I want to.” Then, to himself, with vigor, “I _want_ to.” 

“Okay. Want me to get the stuff?” 

“Yes.”

Grantaire stretched and rose, patting the duvet smooth because everything was going to be done right, damnit. He heard Enjolras creak into some comfy polygon as he shuffled through the all-important bag once again. He found the handcuffs Enjolras had made from exactly three industrial-strength rubber bands. Two were about the size of...about the size of a cock ring, Grantaire allowed, and a jumbo one that had been cut into a long strip and connected the smaller ones. He snatched the vibrator and more condoms as an afterthought. 

“You know, in the grand scheme of capitalism, Michaels is a pretty swell establishment,” He murmured, admiring the rubber on the handcuffs.

“You know what else is great? Getting the hell over here and tying me up.”

Grantaire tsked him, but was glad that he was comfortable again. “That’ll cost you babe, what do you think you deserve for that?” Grantaire turned around to see him nestled in the pillows.

“I think I just said I wanted to be tied up, and probably fingered raw and made to beg to come.” He drawled, though his eyes said _yes I’m a great cockslut who can’t lie down like a normal person because my knees are calcified into a gaming position_. Always the rebel. 

“I think that’s what _you_ might want, but I’m not going to give it to you that easily. Let’s say I _do_ , tie you up, work you open like the greedy fucktoy you are. That wouldn’t be much of a punishment, don’t you think?” 

Enjolras lost his words, frozen staring up at him from his crooked angle and watching his approach with unadulterated hunger. 

“Roll over, ass up,” He directed, curling a hand around his thigh and pressing until satisfied. Enjolras went with ease, flipping onto his elbows and knees and letting himself sag into it, but Grantaire knew the effect on him. He took a moment to appreciate the slight curl in Enjolras’ toes, the too-deep breaths that were so carefully measured, the audible shudder and the slump into the pillow when Grantaire took him in hand. He worked him up generously, committing a tight, slick fist to his pleasure. Enjolras was already hard to begin with, but it quickly took him over, holding him between pliancy and intense frustration. Only then, Grantaire began to finger him. 

Enjolras grunted at the first digit, too overcome to press back and too tense to enjoy it. Grantaire smirked and slowed down his ministrations, making him keen and bow from the loss. Removing his hands entirely, Enjolras had no leverage to bring himself to release, and trembled as the rapture fled him, leaving him sapped and wanting. 

“That’s right, you know who owns your cock, don’t you?” Grantaire purred, finally lubing up his fingers again. 

“Yes, yes, y--” Enjolras ground out, but was cut off by Grantaire’s finger circling lightly, then pressing in. He was acceptably looser, enough for Grantaire to tell that he had probably prepped himself thoroughly through the morning. 

“How far did you get?” He mused aloud, twirling the finger roughly to check for yield. 

“Had the plug on,” Enjolras rasped, tilting his hips up in invitation, and was rewarded with a second finger.

“I don’t think this will take very long at all, if you fucked yourself with it like I know you do. Did you come on it?”

“Yes,” He sputtered, more aroused than fingers alone should warrant. His cock was twitching every now and then, amped for the slightest touch that Grantaire would not give for a long, long time. Grantaire himself strained at the sight, half a mind absorbed with the image of Enjolras, bent in on himself to take the plug in the dark recesses of Combeferre’s apartment. He couldn’t have been able to turn it on, or his own shouts would’ve woken up his friend in the next room.

Grantaire steadily worked him up to four digits, and finally approved when he could twist them without Enjolras flinching. It was not as heated as before, each too rapt for dirty talk and anticipating greater things. Enjolras hummed happily when Grantaire pulled out, though Grantaire couldn’t imagine the emptiness was comfortable. He made haste to prepare the vibrator, rolling a condom on it in lieu of cleaning supplies, and slicking it liberally. It was modestly long, wireless, with a flared base at the end and the handle quirked at a ninety degree angle. More importantly, though, it buzzed like a feral thing in his hands. 

“Read for cuffs?” 

“Suit me up, by all means,” Enjolras chirped, unfurling himself and sitting gingerly on his heels. Grantaire shuffled around to face him, dragging the bands along. The wrist elastics were too thick to pull on with one hand, but had a relaxed fit around Enjolras’ wrist, and were not so tacky that the rubber bit and twisted the skin. Grantaire could appreciate a good, cheap hack. They both hummed their satisfaction when the longer elastic fit smoothly into a knob at the top of the headboard. His arms were held streamline in front of him, and height of the anchor point vaulted his chest off the mattress some. The angle made his back arch attractively and held his shoulders up--such was mutually decided to be a positive feature. Enjolras only suggested resting his knees on something heavy, his luggage, to prevent himself from slipping forward. Once situated, Grantaire reinserted his fingers and took up a casual rhythm. The motion kept Enjolras comfortable in the stretch while Grantaire acquainted himself with the vibrator. His fingers slotted firmly around the handle, even with the lube everywhere, and he could pluck the power button with his thumb at any time. Enjolras squirmed with sweet expectation as Grantaire practiced with the switch one-handed. There was only one setting.

“Let me ease into it, then turn it on,” Enjolras clarified for him. 

“Sounds good. Safeword check?” A simple ‘stop’ or the omission of a complete ‘go’ was always reliable for their purposes, but it was never too early to apply more safety precautions. 

“Dalaran,” Enjolras said with confidence. 

“Shattrath,” Grantaire returned, and deftly replaced his fingers with the tip of the shaft. Enjolras voiced his encouragement at this, but quickly lost his words, muffling a grunt into his arms and sagging into the bonds. Grantaire filled him up to the flared end, and worked the muscle with shallow pumps there. Enjolras’ body changed shape under the ministrations, nodes of tension seizing first his neck, then his shoulders, then the pits of his knees, and then lax, using his small freedoms to make his whole self as absorbed in the process as possible. Grantaire’s cock throbbed in sympathy, and couldn’t help but pump harder for him. Enjolras hissed, but acceded just as quickly and applied himself to meet the rhythm with his hips. Grantaire saw this and rubbed an asscheek affectionately. 

“Is this for me?” He jeered, laughing as Enjolras’ breath hitched. “Is that why you’re all trussed up now?”

Enjolras tossed his head over one shoulder, sent a challenging look to him from half-profile. He was agitated, goading, his forehead scored with lines of exertion even as he quirked a brow, perked an ear. _So? Bring it on, and I’ll beg when you make me._

“You’re ready for me to turn this on.” Grantaire translated, pulling it almost all the way out and thrusting back. Enjolras sighed smoothly and said “Yes, I am,” before burying his head again to hide a smile. Grantaire could only groan, and comply. 

The reaction was immediate. Enjolras flinched forward with a yelp, bearing down although his arms were strung tight, and bucked his legs close to himself. Grantaire looked on with mild alarm, but saw no change from the last time Enjolras had used this on-camera. Still, his arms were fizzing with adrenaline and ready to free him in an instant. 

Enjolras coiled inward, ducking his head low between his arms and whining through his teeth. One moment he was still, riding out the pulsing tremors with his hinges fused. The next, he was arching this way and that, his jaw hung open and slurring “ah, ah’s” between obscenities. His cock was heavy between his legs, which were only held open by Grantaire sitting between them. He strained with mesmerizing abandon, and it took a minute for Grantaire to remember what to do, once it became clear that Enjolras wanted to bear it. He grasped Enjolras’ shoulder with one hand, and fit the other on his hip to steady him. Enjolras seemed to center himself around that touch, and braced for movement. 

Grantaire yanked him back the few inches he’d won on the handcuffs, and flushed his cock apace with the side of the vibrating handle. He held Enjolras against him, absorbing some of the vibrations for himself. His pulse throttled for it, taking pleasure at once with command and pressing for more of both. He thrust against him, dragging his cock against skin and plastic alike, and building. He was slick there, some from earlier and some excess from the plug sliding down in rivulets. Enjolras groaned and squirmed at the pressure, but there was nothing except to hang on his bonds and take it. Grantaire could feel him getting truly desperate, his arms seizing in spasms and his legs only twitching weakly, bent akimbo. Yet, he leaned into Grantaire’s touches like a man starved and craved more even though he was being buzzed to the quick and every point of contact tweaked him like a live wire. 

“Grantaire, Grantaire, fuck me, _fuck_ me, I need you to fill me up--oh, _fucking_ hell--ah, Ahhh--!...Fuck me, mark me, make me yours Grantaire, just please, _Rrrrrgh_ ” 

Grantaire slipped away to thrust the plug again, hard and fast, and Enjolras just barely kept himself up on his knees while he buried his face and exclaimed all Grantaire’s crimes and virtues: how exactly he wanted to be used, how much he’d love Grantaire’s cock, how much he loved being taken, how everyone might know that he had been owned. Grantaire had heard most of these, but Enjolras, never driven so hard for so long was declaring fantasies they hadn’t even discussed: risky little trysts of Grantaire taking him home, fucking him at work, during a raid, everything completely unrealistic and coming from the lust-depraved mind of an Enjolras getting off on exposing himself. Grantaire shuddered to hear some of them, and noted a few things to ask about later on, just in case there were more deep-seated cravings worth investigating. 

“Now...now I think I’d like to fuck you,” Grantaire croaked, gone with the authority and just needing to get inside him. Enjolras went completely boneless when the plug switched off, and was wracked with shudders as Grantaire slid it out. His ass was a little red and swollen, but absolutely delectable nonetheless and Grantaire didn’t waste any time lubing himself up and fucking forwards. 

Despite downscaling the stimulation, this punched the air out of Enjolras all the same, and he leaned back, needing _more_ , breathing hard. _Mine_ , Grantaire thought darkly, spurred on by the little frisson of _danger_ it entailed. It was no matter, Enjolras was opened wide and took him readily, took him rough. So Grantaire gave, and gave, and snapped his hips, staunch in his aim to take Enjolras apart himself. It happened when Grantaire draped himself over Enjolras’ back, rolling a nipple in tandem with fisting his cock, and said “Right now, you come for me”. Enjolras came soundlessly, and Grantaire dragged his fingers in the residue as he brought himself off in hand. 

\-----

“Hi,” Grantaire said sometime later, half-muffled from propping his chin on a pillow. Lying on his stomach, it was a fine vantage point to admire Enjolras. 

A few minutes ago, they had been lying together, humming low in their throats and hugging sweat-tacky skin. Alas, all was cut short when Enjolras started getting antsy. He started twisting this way and that, grumbling about the cramped plane ride and needing to fidget. Grantaire didn’t try to keep him, but scooted down the bed and let him be. He watched Enjolras finger-comb his hair, shrug on Grantaire’s sweatshirt, and busy himself with some mobile game. If Enjolras had mustered the will to clothe his bare ass, it would be impossible to tell that there had been very, very nice sex. Grantaire was smitten. 

They ordered pizza later on, and Grantaire was treated to Enjolras’ attempt of the ol’ peek-around-the-door as he tried to pay the deliverywoman without scandal. He fell into the door afterward, slamming it. 

“Oh, don’t laugh…” Enjolras grumbled. 

“You’re just mad we got Hawaiian,” Grantaire cooed.

“First of all, calling it ‘Hawaiian’ in the first place is misleading and offensive. Some Canadian dude pulled it out of a hat in the 1960’s…” Enjolras cast the box in Grantaire’s general direction. “So eat my ass.”

“It wouldn’t be my first time,” he leered. 

“I…” 

“I win. Now eat, and maybe I’ll show you later, no?”

\-----

By the time they finished round two, it was getting late and Enjolras had three hours’ jetlag on top of that. Sleeping was the easy part, but waking up was less than civil. Each had to prepare for the convention, which required their attention at small and unhappy hours of the morning. 

Incredibly, Enjolras had packed nothing but a tea brewer in his carry-on luggage, and sipped his concoction for a solid half-hour while his meds kicked in. Grantaire, meanwhile, was feeling a little more heroic, and decided to go buy bagels--the ones with all the seeds. 

Even at six-o-clock, the sun was splashing across windows and long avenues alike. Walking back to the motel, Grantaire was quite awake, albeit stiff from last night. On any other morning, he would not stand to be awake, but now it allowed him to feel the hype where hype was due. He was in bright spirits to present the bagels to Enjolras. Enjolras, however, was not the one who answered the door. Certainly it was _something_ , but it being Enjolras' first convention, it was probably his first attempt at cosplay.

"Ehm...feathers? Uh...a murloc?" Grantaire let himself scrutinize, because the rest of the outfit was undeniably gorgeous. For all that Enjolras lacked in cosmetics, he made up for with thrift shopping. Grantaire took him in with his eyes, beginning with the stark white collar of his t-shirt, then down, until the white mixed with red tie-dye, and long flowing sleeves, and then a black belt divided it from soft-looking red trousers. Finally, there was whatever he’d glued to his face from the craft store.

"I give up."

"Chi-ji," Enjolras huffed, snatching the bagel from Grantaire's extended palm and twirling away on his heels. The red feathers flapped against his ears as he went. Grantaire raised an eyebrow at the back of his head. 

“Huh, it’s a good look for you,” Grantaire said distantly, for he was mentally cataloging every available beauty supply that might salvage it. Enjolras turned around gave him a pointed look. “No, uh, I mean like, the character suits you. The whole ‘spirit of hope’ thing really works.” 

“That’s a nice way of saying I get an A for effort,” Enjolras sniped, but Grantaire heard the laugh barely-there under his breath. “But seriously, I know it’s a wreck, it was fun to put on my face, and I’m keeping it.” Grantaire marveled at the happy blush sprouting high on Enjolras’ cheeks, and mourned that Enjolras didn’t allow himself enough of such carefree moments. 

“I brought stuff, I can do facepaint....?” Grantaire offered, hoping not to break the spell. 

“You mean, makeup and...things?” Enjolras echoed.

"Yeah, sure. I’m doing my own too. It was gonna be a surprise, but it’s even better that we’re both doing it. I have some reds and blacks that’ll show up on our skin just fine, ah--" He plucked his own luggage off the floor and tore open its contents, holding up a bulging cosmetics bag in victory. "What are your thoughts on eyeliner?"

Enjolras went bug-eyed. "Combeferre and Musichetta use it, uh..."

"We'll work something out," Grantaire said with a grin. “Bathroom.” 

They had time to spare, so Grantaire let himself indulge a little. With white, he created some negative space detail around the eyes, and outlined a red racing stripe which disappeared into his hairline, the barest hint of Chi-ji’s crest. 

“Does cosplaying as a crane make you a furry? I mean, not _you_ inherently, but...but it’s definitely a furry cosplay, right?” 

Enjolras hummed, furrowing his brows in more sober contemplation than the question deserved. “I don’t think so. If anything, he’s just hope, manifested in the form of a crane. I’d say he’s more humanoid than animal since he...isn’t he the result of people projecting their optimism? The crane part is just a symbol of the human emotion.”

“If you need to justify your _totally_ non-furry cosplay with a metaphysics card, I think that makes it more of a furry cosplay.”

“But…” Enjolras stoppered his tongue when he felt the puffs of laughter grazing his scalp. He rolled his eyes, and added with as much dignity as possible, “Even if that were the case, wouldn’t it be called a...a ‘feathery’?”

After a while of needling amusement out of Enjolras, Grantaire stepped back, satisfied with his handiwork. Enjolras’ face was a tapestry of red, black, and white. Feathers curled over the crown of his head in a proper plume, and the pigment sculpted illusionary planes out of his face that seemed, in Grantaire’s opinion, positively birdlike. 

Grantaire still had an hour and a half for his own cosplay, so he took care with his getup while Enjolras discovered the material properties of a mirror. He had chosen Illidan Stormrage for his own cosplay, since it would be easy to repurpose the horns from a previous Halloween costume. Not that he shared the Betrayer’s spectacular abs, but the makeup looked doable. He put on some long sleeves, a messy ponytail, the latex ears, and got to work painting the rest of his exposed skin in Illidan’s necrotic shade of lavender. Enjolras floated around a few times to gush over Grantaire’s progress.

"Where did you learn all this?" Enjolras whispered, squatting down to rest his chin on Grantaire’s shoulder.

"I was a big favorite for spirit days in school. People paid me to do makeup for sports days and parties and shit. Also for myself. You should see the pictures of me at my first pride."

"Wow... I never would've guessed,” Enjolras shook his head, marveling. 

"You mean," Grantaire clenched low in his throat as he got into character, " _you were not prepared_."

“Why am I dating you again?” He chuckled, carefree and splendid and red. 

“We have common interests, like reading the lore and not standing in the fire. Also, you recruited me.” Grantaire informed him, wishing that they could go back to bed and cuddle, makeup and convention be damned. But instead he sighed, “We should really get going soon.” 

“Yeah...wait, yeah!” Enjolras blinked a few times, summoning the memory.

They filled their drawstring bags with all the necessities that were cheap enough to risk getting stolen, and ran out to find the right bus stop. People were milling all over the sidewalks and streetfront shops, but they were too far away from the convention center to see anyone else in cosplay. They got some inquisitive looks, but Enjolras made no move to cover himself, and Grantaire followed suit. _They_ weren’t on an amazing date with a huge nerd, or holding that nerd’s hand. Grantaire squeezed their fingers together in a silent hurrah. 

When they boarded their bus, Enjolras nodded his good graces to a group of teenagers ogling them from the back row. Sitting down, he turned to Grantaire with a start.

“Hey, we need a picture together!”

Grantaire made an affirmative noise, dazedly comprehending Enjolras’ raised phone. 

“Let me just…” Enjolras brushed some feathers out of the way of Grantaire’s horns and leaned in close. Grantaire didn’t need to be told to smile. 

They stayed pressed together while Enjolras flicked through the photos. Grantaire turned his attention to the opposite window, where he saw some costumed heads bobbing among the regular pedestrians. There was a young family in superhero garb, a vocaloid couple, the odd Deadpool, and others all sticking out of the typical cityscape. They were getting close. 

“Can I send this one to Bahorel?” Enjolras held up the screen in Grantaire’s periphery, which he saw to be a rather good shot of them looking smitten. 

“Why Bahorel?” Grantaire mused aloud, glancing over at Enjolras in the flesh. 

“Bahorel requested one via Eponine, ‘for his Instagram’.” 

“Huh...Sure, if you’re okay with it.”

“I mean, _someone_ in the guild is going to find it and edit it into something ghastly, but I suppose that won’t be Bahorel.”

Grantaire elbowed him lightly. “As long as we get the edit as a holiday card, I’m happy.” 

When they got to the convention center, some teenagers followed them off the bus and asked for pictures, which Grantaire reassured Enjolras was totally normal for the venue. Without thinking, Grantaire took his hand again for the picture, squinting into the sun. Afterward, they hung behind to admire the facade of the convention center, all glass and triangles and arches. 

“It’s a good day to spend too much money,” Enjolras asserted, swinging their hands together. 

“And talk to nerds.”

“And date a nerd.”

“That’s gay.”

“‘Gay’, passive buff, increased chance of being really fucking gay.” Enjolras mused.

“Can I enchant something with that?” 

Enjolras patted his ass affectionately, “I dub thee a full set of gay enchantments.” 

“So, I’m ready to enter the raid now, captain?” Grantaire crooned, leaning in for a kiss.

It was a shock as Enjolras let go of his hand. Grantaire staggered some as his legs remembered how to right themselves. Looking up, the disillusionment of a kiss deferred was replaced with the sight of Enjolras, charging ahead with all his feathers flapping.

“LEEEEEROOYYYYYY NN’ JENKIINSSS!!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter appendix one more time:  
> -If you don't know what Leeroy Jenkins is, just....just look it up  
> -Dalaran: Just a cool city in WoW. It has been a high-level hub for two expansions and it floats in the sky :D It's open to both Alliance and Horde players (with PvP turned off, naturally)  
> -Shattrath: Another cool faction-neutral city in WoW. The cities are arbitrary safewords, it just made me happy to put them in :3  
> -Chi-ji: Like Enjolras mentions, he's a Spirit of Hope, and manifests as a red, black, and white crane. He's a pretty central god to the expansion in which this fic is set  
> -Illidan Stormrage: He's an elf who became a demon lord and says "YOU ARE NOT PREPARED" when you fight him. He's famous for being WoW's #1 raid boss at one point (and for being really fucking ripped, like Yikes)  
>   
> Thank you yall for being patient with me. To be honest, this is my first real brainchild of long*-ass fiction-writing. I've never had an idea which I liked enough (more reason not to read my first post on this site: I was hella bored by the end of it). Leave it to my rose-tinted goggles for World of Warcraft to get me into the spirit of things. I started writing this as a sendoff fic from Les Mis, if you can believe it, because I wanted to see myself through these characters before drawing back and focusing on my first boyfriend! Well that didn't last super long (no regrets) and now I just wanna keep up this stuff :) Don't look for a sequel any time soon (but not forever!). I will yell about this on tumblr @hysteia if anyone shows up to party.


End file.
